


Secret Bit of Right From Wrong

by BairnSidhe



Series: That kid from Brooklyn [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Severe slow burn, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 19:44:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 48,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1720313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BairnSidhe/pseuds/BairnSidhe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a lab accident puts the Super Soldier on leave, Steve Rogers gets the girl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginnings and Endings

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work I wrote in 2012, and posted on AFF. I'm in process of writing a sequel and since most of my newer work is being posted here, I thought I would copy over Secret Bit of Right From Wrong so that the Ao3 crowd knows what the hell I'm talking about when I post the sequel.
> 
> A big thanks to otaku330 from AFF who gave me the idea and helped me bring it to fruition.
> 
> So you know, the title is the name of a Ryan Kelly song. I <3 Ryan Kelly.

It was a total accident.  They thought he could help a friend, no harm done.  I mean, the guy was courting a heart attack, and a little blood donation could give him another option.  It went so wrong.  And it wound up ending so right.

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“Ok, lay this out for me again, slower and with smaller words.  We aren’t all brilliant scientists.” Actually, Steve didn’t think any of the three men were brilliant scientists.  Tony Stark was as rightfully cocky as Howard, but less friendly and not a true scientist like his old friend.  Banner was a scientist, but the brilliant part was debatable, evidenced by the reason for this meeting.

Tony ran his hands through his hair in frustration.  For a guy who was once a professional lab-rat Rogers was putting up heavy resistance to a little blood draw. “Cap, you got given the Erskine serum.  Bruce got dosed with another version and gamma.  The only other person running around with the Erskine version and gamma in him is Emil Blonsky, who is a certifiable nutcase.  You don’t Hulk out, Blonsky can’t UN-Hulk; both are stable states. If we look at the sample of Blonsky’s blood, compared to your blood and Bruce’s blood, we might know how to stabilize his reactions.  In the middle there is a solution other than your friend and mine keeping his blood pressure so high he’s liable to kill himself!  Or get stuck in a perpetual cardiac arrest, if he can’t die.”

“Steve, really, you don’t have to…” Banner knew that Steve was worried about this because the last time someone took his blood for study the Army used it to create the Hulk and the Abomination.  The man had every right to be nervous.

“Can it Banner, he does, he can and he will.  I once thought I was dying a slow death like this, and Pepper has never let me forget that I could have died on her.  You will _not_ die on my watch, or I’ll have to put up with that shit from Betsy too.  I refuse to be the most hen-pecked man on Earth!”

Sensing oncoming histrionics, Steve headed off the narcissist. “Fine Stark, but I’m agreeing for Betsy and Bruce, not you.  Don’t make me regret this.”

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Three weeks later, Steve was relaxing with the New York Times when the wall started talking and the paper got ripped in half as the super soldier jumped.  Even though he’d been introduced to the system they called Jarvis, the wall talking still freaked him out.  He was irritated about the ruined newspaper; Tony had tried to get him to watch the television (or use the computer) for his news, but the feel of reading a paper was soothing to the man from the past.  Still, he was raised to be polite and the wall, Jarvis, seemed so much like a person he felt bad being rude to it.  Sighing and trying not to feel like an idiot talking to an empty room, Steve asked what was going on.

“Your presence has been requested in the seventh sub-basement laboratory, sir.” It really was amazing how British the disembodied voice sounded.  It made him miss Falsworth, the Englishman from his old unit in the war.

“I’ll be right there.”

Steve had originally thought Stark might be a bit paranoid, building so many isolated underground labs.  Then something had blown up, Bruce went Hulk, and Steve decided that it was a genius stroke of foresight.  That still didn’t make the elevator ride more pleasant.  It moved too fast by his reasoning, and felt an awful lot like falling.  The supposedly soothing “mu-zac” that played in the background was yet another thing that reminded him this was not his time.  When he arrived at the seventh sub-basement he took a left and then the second right, thankful again for his near perfect recall. The lab on this level had double thick walls with a metal layer made from adamantium, a metal that had been in the alloy that made his shield. This was where Banner worked on anything related to his transformations.

“Ah! Rogers! You’re here, perfect. Stand over here, behind the blast shield.  I’m almost done with calibrations.”

 Steve really could see Tony as Howard’s son when he worked. The energy the two men put off while engrossed in a project was similarly stunning.  Exhausting, but stunning.  Banner was on the other side of the room prepping for the procedure, which seemed to involve an injection and immobilizing himself on a chair type device.  When he was strapped in with metal reinforced restraints, the chair swung in an arc on a cleverly hidden track in the floor.  The final position of the chair was much closer to the clear, foot thick blast shield. Across the room robotic arms positioned a thing that might emit a beam, to the direction of Tony.  Although the rampant use of robotic labor sometimes, frequently actually, unnerved Steve, he had to admit the arms dealt with Tony’s hyper perfectionistic verbal abuse, and a human might not.

“Ready to go Doctor?”

 “As ready as I’ll ever be, Tony.  Let ‘er rip.”

A vibrant gold light struck Bruce, causing his skin to ripple as the Hulk attempted to break free.  The reaction was thwarted by the metallic straps and slowly the ripples abated. The light stopped, and the thin scientist looked passed out.  Then the super senses and reflexes kicked in and to Steve’s mind, many things happened at once.  One of the robotic arms by the machine shook slightly as it pressed buttons on that wall, Tony yelled out “Dummy! What the hell are you doing?” and the beam machine started glowing on the business end.  Frightened for his friend, he snapped into Captain America mode and barreled across the room, knocking the chair over.  He was hit by a violet stream of energy and felt very tired. So tired, he was just going to sleep a few minutes.


	2. Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets some unexpected news

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time, sorry, but this seemed like the right cut-off for the plot. BTW, for history buffs, Asthma was considered a symptom of mental illness in Steve's day. His mom, who worked in a TB ward, very well may have thought it wasn't, but she was a nurse not a doctor, and would not likely have been listened to.

Steve awoke with a blurry mind and a heavy weight on his chest.  It felt odd, like the weight was in his body not on top.  He hadn’t had that feeling since before the Erskine procedure.  It made breathing hard, and he used to have to keep quiet about it.  The doctors had thought that sort of thing was a symptom of mental illness, and his mother made very sure he would never tell anyone.  She didn’t want her son to be crazy, and she thought that maybe the problem was physical, like her TB patients.  He remembered how to clear it, and coughed very hard, repeatedly. When his chest stopped burning, he opened his eyes.  He was in an unfamiliar bed, and the steady pace of beeps and the odd smell told him it was in a room in the infirmary.  His friends would be worried about him, he needed to get up and let them see he was fine, but it seemed very hard to move his body, and finally he just asked Jarvis to send them in.  In this case, the talking wall was actually very helpful, but it was still creepy.

“Steve? How are you feeling?” Tony sounded abnormally unsure and nervous.  Before now, Steve hadn’t thought the Stark bloodline allowed for that pitch of voice.

“Fine, I’m just a little tired, and have a slight headache.”  He had never given much thought to ever reassuring Tony, but it seemed he had rattled the inventor more than he had thought possible. “Why?  Did you think the malfunction would kill me?” He was aiming for levity, but it did not make the face that was now in view smile or relax.

“There wasn’t a malfunction.  The beam worked.  Bruce is…stable.”  Tony looked like he wanted to vomit.  “But the unexpected addition of another variable, you, made the experiment turn out less than optimal.  Why on Earth did you go into the radiation zone?”

“I thought there was a malfunction. The arm thing was shaking, and you got upset, and the beam shooter lit up.  I wanted to get Bruce out of the path of fire.”

“Steve, the design was for three bursts, fired automatically.  Dummy just makes my coffee.  He’s the only arm with the right servos to do delicate things, and he was about to burn my beans.  I wasn’t ever going to trust the machine to him; I call him Dummy for a reason.  Bruce was in no danger.”  Tony rubbed the bridge of his nose, sighed, and visibly braced himself. “But you are.  The first burst was to give Bruce the ability to stay himself in a Hulk state, mentally. The second was to cut his physical change down to a more moderate state, and the third was to give him control over the shift without adrenaline or blood pressure changes.” He pulled a hand through his hair, clearly hesitant to continue discussing the topic.

“Now, in the other room, a very annoyed scientist is trying to call his wife while his fingers are the size of hot dogs, and _you_ are here, in this room hooked up to monitors and an IV drip while Fury tries to find the hardcopy of your medical history before the war.  You were pretty frail, and we have very few records of what all was wrong, and we don’t know how to handle this.  I don’t think there is a good way to say this, Cap, you changed back.” 

Steve was not the type of guy who swore often, and he only pulled cuss-words out in very extreme situations.  There was, at this moment, however, only one thing to say.

“Shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me here: bairnsidhe.tumblr.com


	3. Moving On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Decisions are made about what to do next.

It was three days later when Nick Fury had tracked down the old records.  Then a day for Stark’s hired medical historian to re-evaluate misdiagnosed medical issues. Two more days to get a final sum up of all the things Steve would need to take or do to fix them. A week had passed when the doctors said he was free to move about.  Tony, in his usual impersonal efficiency had called a meeting of the team that day.  Steve was still fairly rocky on his feet, so they had opted to have him in a wheelchair.  Banner had reverted to his normal human form, so at least there wasn’t a giant green reminder of how badly this mistake had cost them.  Bruce, in fact, looked almost as embarrassed by this as Steve felt.  In the lounge they had chosen for its wheelchair access was the team, minus Thor who was still on Asgard, Nick Fury and a medium tall brunette woman in a full S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform.  She perched on the arm of the overstuffed armchair that Fury occupied looking mildly bored and fidgety.

Tony spoke first, taking a leadership role that would have irked the Super Soldier normally, but frankly, Steve just wasn’t feeling at all super, and so he listened quietly. “Folks, we have a bit of a problem here.  The chatter on the S.H.I.E.L.D. intelligence networks indicates that Hydra may not be quite as dead as we could have hoped, and the new man in charge, a Baron Zemo, knows Captain America isn’t as dead as _they_ could have hoped, and he also knows, somehow, that the super soldier is off duty as it were.  Fortunately Steve, the only records that had been found in the mop-up efforts while you were doing time as an ice cube indicate that the old Hydra only had pictures of Super-you, not the normal you.  We’re going to hope that the current model is also in the dark, but try to derail their efforts to get new info in the meantime.  Romanov, you’re on that.”

“It’s Romanova, Stark.” the assassin added dryly “Russians put an “a” on the end of the last names of women.  But you are right to assign me to that task.  Infiltration _is_ my forte after all.”

“Got it, sorry ‘bout that, but you have so many names I was bound to mess one of them up sooner or later.  Barton, do you feel up to tagging along on that one?  You two do work well together, but we could also use the backup here, since we’ll be down two already.”

The blonde archer shifted in his seat on the sofa. “I should stay put, I think.  Strange says I’m making progress on the after effects of the whole ‘flying monkey’ fiasco, but I’m not good for under cover yet.  The damn flashbacks could get Nat in trouble if I lapse at the wrong time.” He had been seeing a doctor who specialized in the metaphysical, a guy named Stephen Strange.

“Good, you can be out front and visible with Iron Man.  I talked Rhodey into taking the suit so Bruce and I can focus on what the beam did to Steve.  You good with that, Banner?”

“Of course.  But I can’t promise success.  I couldn’t fix myself after all.  Steve, you should probably be prepared to stay the way you are for a while.” The doctor looked resigned to spending time and effort on a potentially dead end project.

Tony did not seem to share Bruce’s pessimism “S.H.I.E.L.D.’s going to be helping us on that front.  Fury, you’re up.”

The spy master huffed in his characteristic gruff manner. “The problem with leaving you here, is that everybody with a working TV knows Captain America is an Avenger, that the Avengers live in the tower with the great big A on it, and I’ll wager that Zemo or any other villains looking to off a de-powered Super Soldier will look here first.  Your defenses are good, but with enough pre-planning, they _are_ breakable.  So we’re going to bait and switch.  Avengers Tower will go on full alert, but Steve won’t be there.  He’ll be staying at Agent McCann’s flat for the duration, unless it becomes necessary to move him.  McCann is in charge of body guard detail, and we have a number of very good hackers creating a false identity for Rogers.  Any questions?” He did not sound like he wanted questions, but Steve felt compelled to ask one.

“Sir, I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but, why her? Not that you aren’t capable ma’am, but wouldn’t it look odd for a man to move in with you?  I just don’t want to damage your reputation.”

            The brunette stood, unfolding her arms as she did, revealing that she was also extraordinarily thin for her height.  “My cover identity is as a gallery owner.  My name is on the paperwork regarding the ownership and running of a gallery in SoHo, I show up there for openings and boss the assistants around by phone, and to most of the world, Catherine ‘Cate’ McCann is just another pretentious wanna-be connoisseur of art.  We keep the funding of the gallery low enough that when Agents or assets need to lie low, I can reasonably say that I’m renting out the upper floor of my loft for extra income.  I’m not the only Agent to do this, but I’m the only one in New York City.  Stark and Banner might need you for tests, so we didn’t want to take you that far away.  Also, you were in an art program when you signed up for the SSR.  A gallery owner renting a room to a painter; it makes sense.”  She spoke rapidly, but clearly enough that she could be understood.  Her general attitude seemed to be one of constant action.  She certainly looked dissatisfied with the talking, and although polite, not very welcoming.  Not wanting to irritate his host any more than she already had been, Steve murmured an assent to her logic and excused himself to pack.

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            There really wasn’t much to pack.  He had few mementos left that he didn’t want to abandon, due to his seventy year nap, and someone, most likely Pepper, had already packed a bag of new clothes in his new, or rather, old smaller size.  The only things he really wanted to make sure came with him were a small sketchpad and pencil set, and a ridiculously tiny device that Clint had programmed with music from the late Thirties and early Forties and showed him how to use.  The music was relaxing to him, and keeping it on the small iPod helped him remember that he could integrate his old life with this strange new world.  There were a few photos of his old unit from promotional flyers that he’d had framed, but it would defeat the purpose of going under cover if he took them.  As a last minute thought he grabbed a book off his nightstand at random.  He had gotten in the habit of stacking the books he wanted to read on the table by the bed, even if he never read them in bed.  One last look at the room that had been his for half a year; and he turned his wheelchair around and moved toward the elevator and a new chapter in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me here: bairnsidhe.tumblr.com


	4. Moving In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve moves in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just setting up the scene here. Not much plot, but a few details that will be important later, so bear with me in the mostly dull parts. There is also a touch of angst, but it is plot motivated, and I promise the story will perk up in the next chapter.

The white mini-van that took him to his new living space was registered to the prickly Agent’s cover identity, so they took quite a few switchbacks and evasive maneuvers, so that it would be hard to track where she had picked him up from.  Steve was still quite tired from the sudden removal of his heightened stamina.  He used to need far less sleep or even rest, because of Dr. Erskine.  Adjusting back to his weaker self, he had to re-accustom himself to needing eight or more hours of sleep and not being able to over exert himself without backlash.  About the time they went past Times Square the third time, he dozed off, and only woke up when they came to a full stop.  The sound of the engine shutting down jogged him into awareness.  They were in an underground garage, occupied by only a few other vehicles, suggesting that the lot was private.  An unshakeable Law of the Universe said public parking in this city was always full, and that had been true even in Steve’s day.

Agent McCann came around to his side of the van with the wheelchair they had stored in the back.  He noticed right away that her demeanor had changed.  She smiled for the first time since they met, and her voice was lighter and more cheerful. “Just let me show you to the elevator, Mr. Grant.  I’m sure the loft will suit your needs.” He had no idea what his cover was yet, so Steve decided to stay quiet.  As they moved toward the glass elevator at one side of the cavernous underground parking lot, she kept up merry chatter that helped clue him in a bit. “Now, the whole building is linked to this elevator, the garage, obviously, the first floor that holds my gallery, where I hope you might decide to display some of your work, the second floor has my office, and the third is the Loft, where you’ll be staying.  You’ll need the key, here. There’s room up there for two occupants, but I don’t have another lodger lined up for a while.  You should have the place to yourself.  You can get ahold of me during business hours by pressing 1 then # on the phone line, or if there’s an issue that needs handling after hours, the code for my living space is 2#. The receptionist in the gallery is 3#, but until you hold a showing, you won’t need to get in touch with her.  Otherwise, the phone works like normal.  Here we are.”

They exited the elevator into a small plain room with two doors, one ahead that was labeled in a tasteful gold paint script ‘ **The Loft’** , the other was on the right, and had no label at all.  He used the key on the showier door and was confronted by a wide open room, floored in a light hardwood, with minimal furniture. The left hand wall was almost all one long kitchen, separated from the rest of the room only by a proportionately long island with half a dozen chairs at it.  On the island was a large manila folder like S.H.I.E.L.D. used, only with no crest, just the name **Roger Grant** written on it in Fury’s unmistakable bold block print.  Agent- no, he would have to get used to her cover- Catherine McCann shifted her tone slightly back to the cool efficiency she had shown in the Avengers HQ.

“The kitchen should be fully stocked with everything you need.” She shot a meaningful glance at the folder. “The bed rooms are back this way. Follow me.”  She went to the far end of the room and turned into a hallway that had been obscured from the view by the door simply by virtue of the length of the kitchen.  There they made another set of turns that placed them in a hall behind that long bank of cabinetry, which doubled back oddly around closets and a washroom, which she pointed out, in her “Agent” voice.  Thankfully Steve had learned his recall before Operation: Rebirth; he could follow the labyrinth of twisting hallway and identical unmarked doors that was the “private” half of the apartment.  He figured the awkward layout and narrowness in the halls was to limit the spread of a break-in.  This place doubled as a hide-out after all. As they paused a moment by a door, the ceiling light buzzed twice as if there was a short. “Did you see that?” Catherine pointed to the light.  “When the lights back here buzz, it means the heat censors in the wall have picked up that many bodies. Two short means two people, a prolonged buzz indicates an additional person entering after the first signal.  It won’t pick up a fast target, but to get in any of the rooms they would have to pause long enough for the censors to pick it up.  The windows in the front room are darkened from the outside, but they can be used to amplify a parabolic microphone, so don’t say anything classified before you get back here.  Also, we do routine sweeps for surveillance equipment, but we can’t get anything too special, or the people we want to keep out would flag this as a safe house.  If you think there’s a breach, just call to let me know that you may need pest control.  If you have proof, say cockroach for electronic bugs, mice for a watcher you notice outside.  I’ll have Fury send in a team to check it out.

You’ll be here under the pretense that you’re thinking of putting work in the gallery, so you may want to spend a little time actually drawing, just so the place feels like an artist’s studio and apartment.  Write down a list of the art supplies you need and give it to me, and it’ll be in the bags and boxes we have delivered as part of the “move”.  Normal people collect things they consider essential like floors collect dust.  They can’t help it, and not having that dust shows a disturbance to the stasis, draws attention.  We have a few things that are sort of random to fill out the corners, but you’ll need to let us know what should take center stage.  The file on Roger Grant is a canvas; you decide what picture to paint on it.  The more your cover matches your life, the less anyone questions it.  That folder up front is just a script; just half of what makes a good play, grift, or operation.

This door is the first bedroom, that one farther on is the second, and you need a special key for both bedrooms, it has a computer chip in it, like the ones in car keys.  Any attempt to pick the lock, or use a copy of the key will set off alarms all over HQ.  Both rooms are the same, so I took the liberty of giving you this one.” She handed him a plain looking brass key with a 1 on one side and the words **Do Not Copy** on the other.  “That’s about it.  Do you need any help?”

“Not right at the moment, ma’am. If you give me a moment I’ll write up that list now.” Steve pulled the small sketchpad out of his bag, and wrote quickly.  “I will try my best not to be a bother, ma’am.  Thank you for putting me up like this.” He handed over the list and she nodded and left without a word or a glance at the paper.

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Later that day, he let in a crew of movers to bring in boxes.  He had them leave most of it in the open space between the dining table and the sofa and chairs at the far end of the room.  He’d decided to set up his studio there.  Only a few boxes labeled **Bedroom/Bathroom** in Fury’s handwriting went any further, and he carried those, not wanting to expose the moving crew to the more interesting security features.  He had skimmed the file before they arrived, so he knew a few basics of his cover, enough to bluff his way through the move.  Once they left, he unpacked a few boxes.  The most important were his new art supplies, the sketchpads, drawing paper, pencils, paints, bushes, mixing pallets and of course, the easel.  Setting up the studio area fully would have to wait for another day, but he opened the boxes to know what he wanted to put where and what could wait. 

Then Steve unpacked the things in the boxes Fury had marked.  Most of it was simple essentials, the bedding, for instance.  He got out of the wheelchair to make the bed, and had just tossed the comforter out evenly when he spotted a note at the bottom of the box, this one in Ms. Potts neat cursive. “Remember that very few people, and almost no artists, use military hospital corners on the bed sheets.  Don’t let anyone see your apartment at your normal, exacting level of cleanliness. – Pepper”  It seemed a bit hypocritical for the perfectionistic woman to say, but Steve smiled and tugged out the sides of the top sheet to leave a bit of white showing below the edges of the blue quilted blanket.  He knew Pepper only maintained the high standards she did because it balanced out the chaotic insanity of her playboy boss, and then the super powered world she had to live in because of Tony’s ‘publicly known’ status as Iron Man.  She cared deeply about her friends, and she wanted to help the displaced soldier balance out his habitual military orderliness to keep him safe.  His bathroom things were in the bag with the clothes, and he laid them out with a certain amount of order, but not the pin straight lines he normally used.  The clothes went into the chest of drawers and the closet. The iPod went into a device known as an “iHome”, that he hadn’t owned before, but was in the box containing framed pictures of a few people he didn’t know, and a colorized picture of his mother, he hadn’t even known still existed.  There were a few flaws in the colors; his mother never wore make-up, and her hair was more of a strawberry blonde than that, but it did make her look more like a modern woman, not like one who died during the Depression.  He supposed that was why they had done that, to bring the timeline of his backstory up to the current times.  The pictures of strangers all had those square yellow note sticker things on them naming the people and referencing the page in his cover identity file.  After going through the file again, memorizing the information and linking them to the faces, he placed each carefully on the top of the dresser.

The small effort of unpacking wore him out more than it should have, even at his original level of strength.  The doctors had warned him that might happen, but it was still a disappointment to feel so weak and tired.  His exhaustion drove home the uncomfortable point; he wasn’t even as strong as the average man.  He was back to being small and sickly.  The apartment was very nice, and the bed was comfortable, but as he lay down for a nap, it wouldn’t have mattered if he had been sleeping in a fox hole as he did in the War.  No amount of physical comfort could blunt the sense of loss he felt.  Half his identity, the half people liked, was tied to something that was gone.  He foolishly put himself in front of an unfamiliar machine and it had stripped all the things he had been given from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me here: bairnsidhe.tumblr.com


	5. Routine and Interruption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After growing accustomed to solitude, Steve meets a new arrival.

The following days fell into an easy routine.  He would wake, shower, shave and dress before going into the kitchen to make coffee.  He would sit at the dining table with a breakfast of orange juice, eggs, bacon or sausage, and a bagel with cream cheese. The bagel was always gluten free.  Apparently, he was mildly intolerant of gluten, not enough to cause an allergic reaction, but his system rejected it and he gained no caloric value from it.  After he was done, he put the dishes in the dish-washing machine, which he would turn on when it was full.  He would have felt better doing the dishes by hand after each meal, but he was always careful to heed Pepper’s advice on the neatness of his environment.  He then unpacked boxes until he got tired, when he would nap. 

He had started taking short naps when the doctors who were treating his ongoing issues told him he needed to.  Normally he was not one for sloth, but they said he was catching up on all the sleep he had missed as a Super-Soldier.  He would have thought seventy years would mean something, but his frozen stasis had shut him down past the ability to dream.  It was the REM type sleep he needed, according to the doctors.  The more time he spent dreaming, the faster he would recover his pre-enhancement stamina.  Not that it had been all that great, but it was better than what he had now.

After the expected rest and a quick lunch of fruit and cheese, he alternated reading with sketching.  Initially, he had to work on smaller pads of paper than the canvasses he planned to paint on, standing wore him out.  When he started feeling better, he would walk around the spacious front half of the apartment after his reading grew tedious, or he ran dry of ideas to draw.  The gentle exercise strengthened him gradually, and within two weeks of starting the habit he could walk about all the time.  This allowed him to start mapping the rough draft of his paintings on canvas with pencil.  Part of the safety of being here was the cover of being an artist, so he needed to do his part.  The Roger Grant cover identity had been in the wheelchair because of an old injury being aggravated by a more recent infection.  It was expected that he would slowly recover. At the instruction of his doctors, he took a number of medicines at various times every day.  There was an odd, bittersweet comfort to the prescription of an inhaler for the chest tightness that was called asthma.  His mother had been right all those decades ago, it was an illness of the lungs, not the mind.

At night, after the sun had gone down enough that the natural light was no longer flooding the room; he would cook another meal, eat it at the table and put the dishes in the machine.  Then he would go back to the bedroom change into pajamas, take another round of pills, and sleep.  The pattern would repeat the next day.  In a way, the repetitiveness was relaxing.  He had no responsibility to anyone but himself, no need to save the day, no silent pressure to be a role model.  He stayed on schedule only because it was easy.  He ignored calendars and clocks, didn’t keep track of the day of the week or the time beyond recognizing that if he couldn’t contact the work spaces in the building it was probably Sunday and when the sun hit a certain point it was after business hours.  He played his music for company and could go for incredibly long periods without ever speaking.  A few times Pepper called him and they would chat, carefully keeping off of topics that could identify either of them.  Once he was called in to try out a solution to his de-powered state, but other than that he never went out.  It was dull, but he was used to boredom.  Most of war was waiting around until the time for a short burst of furious action.  He had been in a more active group than most, but wartime was still long periods of boredom punctuated by jolts of intense fear.  It really shouldn’t have surprised him that when things got interesting they got interesting quickly.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

It started with an intruder.  He was in bed, but not sleeping well when he heard the hall light buzz.  Even without the serum to speed his reflexes, waking up to danger had the effect of triggering his soldier’s instinctual fluidity of reaction.  He rolled out of bed to the side away from the door, and grabbed a metal ballpoint pen from beside the phone on his nightstand where he had left it and notepaper.  He hadn’t ever thought of it as a weapon, but his mind was beyond thinking, in the place where all knowledge and stimuli integrated and became action, bypassing thought.  He knew he might not have heard all the buzzes, so he couldn’t depend on the presumption of a single infiltrator.  He heard soft sounds at his door, and knew that picking the lock would bring agents at a run.  He also knew that Catherine McCann was out giving her monthly in-person SITREP, and the delay before help arrived might be great enough to allow a successful attack.  This information integrated and propelled him into a counter maneuver, and without thinking he barreled at the door.  He went through it, caught the intruder around the waist, and only barely pulled his strike with the pen as he saw a frightened, wide eyed girl in a white and blue shirtwaist-cut dress.  Romanova aside, assassins don’t often wear skirts in the field.  As he began to think again he realized he was straddled across her thighs.  This was not a position Steve had ever thought he’d be in.  A blush spread over his face with the speed and heat of a forest fire.  The mind that had been so quick moments before screeched to a halt.  A tear trickled out of her eye and back toward the thick dark hair splayed on the floor in a halo.  The sight caused him great distress, and broke the paralysis of shock.  He threw his body backward only to slam into the door that had swung shut behind him.  The mystery woman scuttled back too, and for a long moment they sat on the floor looking at each other, speechless.  “Miss, I am so very sorry.  I never meant to attack an innocent da---woman, I wasn’t thinking, I am so sorry for frightening you, are you hurt?”  Steve tended to ramble when nervous, and only stopped himself by asking her a question.

“I, uh, I’m not hurt, I don’t think.  I tucked my head when we fell, so it didn’t get hit.  And you kept from stabbing me… Why did you attack me?  I know my sister rents the place out, but surely she told you that there might be someone else moving in?”

“Oh, um, I was having a bad dream when I heard you at the door, I just reacted without thinking.” It was true enough; he could see the loss of his power as a bad dream that just happened to be real.  And he had been reacting without thought.  “I guess it never occurred to me that there would be a second tenant moved in without Ms. McCann warning me, or that it would happen in the night.”

“Oh, yeah, I suppose that was my fault.  I wound up in town suddenly, and just came on up when my call went to Catie’s voicemail.  I already had a key from my last visit.  I’m glad that you have a lock on the bedroom door, though.  I hate to think what might have happened if I woke you up by walking into your room.  It’s not good to shock a person awake when they’re in a nightmare, like why you don’t wake a sleepwalker.”

“I’m a bit overcautious about security, for personal reasons.  I rent this room because of the lock.  But I think it takes a different key than the other bedroom.  Mine doesn’t open the second bedroom.” He realized suddenly that if she had tried the wrong key on his door, that there might be a flood of S.H.E.I.L.D. agents any moment. How should he deal with that?  The influx of men with guns would give up this apartment as a safe house.  “I think I have a number for your sister that might get through.  Wait here a moment, please.”  He stood up and retrieved the room key from the chain that once held his dog tags.  Soon he was back by the phone dialing the code for after-hours contact.  It went to her government-issue cellular phone when she wasn’t under-cover.  She picked up on the first ring.

“What’s the situation?”  Her voice was tense, like she expected the answer to be a list of ransom demands.

“There might have been a false alarm on my bedroom door.  I’m fairly sure it’s nothing, unless you don’t have a sister, in which case the alarm was definitely not false.  What do I do?”

“Describe the girl.  It shouldn’t be my sister, Karen lives with our parents.”

“She said that she arrived in town suddenly, and had a key from a previous visit.  She’s short, a bit shorter than I am now, pale skin, tons of dark hair, black I think; eyes are a light brown.  Her body type is more of a Rubens than a Van Gogh.  She was wearing a shirtwaist, it’s a dress that hasn’t been popular since the war, I don’t think.”

“Crap on a…. Yeah that’s Karen.  Even if someone sent a spy, they would have gone for a more inconspicuous clothing choice.  Only my sister wears something like _that_ to travel.  I’ll get changed, and come give her the key to the second bedroom.  It’s not ideal, but I can’t send her to a hotel the first night without raising too many questions.  Just stay in character, keep quiet if you can’t, and avoid her as best you can.”

“Got it, thanks.”  Steve hung up and sat down hard on the bed. The after effects of an adrenalin rush, and way more activity than he should have done, were hitting him. Now he just had to make it through until the attractive girl left. Avoiding her shouldn't be hard; looking like he did now, no pretty dame would want to spend time with him.

Outside his door, a similar thought went through the mind of Karen McCann:

*Once I got over the fear and shock part, he really was quite handsome, wasn't he? And nice, other than the knocking me down, but that wasn't his fault, after all, I once hit Cate with a pillow so hard she fell over after being suddenly woken up. Not that it matters how nice or good looking he is. I just don't date; I'm too much a contradiction to fit with anyone.  I refuse to kiss a man on the third date, but I speak my mind and have unsettling questions too often for the fundamentalist crowd.  I hang out with the out-there theater folks, but I don’t drink or do drugs. I dress in a mix of vintage and modern, which isn’t a great way to make me look slim, but heavy isn’t as important as healthy to me.  I don’t belong in any crowd, really.  I didn’t grow up normal, and I’m not normal now.  Not a man on earth finds this much weird in one woman attractive, as Brad said. *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. God, I am so sorry about how Karen sounds here. I didn't realize how obedient to the Ladytropes she was at the beginning until I scanned this for typos before posting here. I just, I can't even start to apologize for this. Ignore this, assume she hit her head and wasn't thinking straight.
> 
>  
> 
> As always, you can find me here: bairnsidhe.tumblr.com


	6. Proximity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lunch out leads to some excitement and some danger.

Staying away from his attractive house guest wasn’t as easy as Steve had thought.  They were in separate bedrooms, both locked, sure.  Then he woke up, or rather gave up on sleeping, first.  The time lag between the two schedules kept them from absolutely needing to be in the same part of the apartment.  So did his work on his art, which he focused on for the purpose of maintaining his cover.  But his life had never been easy before, and this was no different.  He really just did not understand when folks said good things came in threes, for him trouble came in threes.  First he could find no way around simple conversation.  She insisted on being kind and polite, and he couldn’t very well ignore her friendly attempt at talking with him, nor could he brush her off with rudeness.  Even if his mother’s spirit didn’t rise up to whap the back of his head from beyond the grave, the guilt alone would eat at his sanity until he set things right.  He was capable of fighting, had been a soldier, but he was totally incapable of bullying, of meanness toward an innocent.  This led to trouble number two; when Catherine came to subtly remove her from the building, she invited him to go with them to the café where his bodyguard would have tried to convince her to go to a hotel.  Had she been rude or cold earlier, Steve could have said no to her.  He had once defied orders from a superior officer; saying no to an invitation offered purely from social convention would have been easy.  But, from the brief conversation, Steve knew she didn’t care about social convention.  She issued the invitation because she wanted to include him, and he had no defense against honest niceness.  His acceptance of her invitation resulted in the third trouble, the most dramatic of them.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The little bistro they ate at was simple and charming.  Sitting in open air was refreshing, and the food was basic but tasty.  Karen knew her sister had taken her there to keep her calm, so the smart money was on bad news or an argument to go back home.  *Tough luck, all bad news can be dealt with, and no force on this planet could send me back to the Midwest while my family lives there.  No freaking way.* 

So Karen enjoyed her food and snuck glances at the sweet, charming man at the table with them.  All day, Roger was kind to her.  He listened to her, thought about what she said, and responded with an amount of diplomacy she was unused to.  He never raised his voice, never spoke rudely or with meanness.  If it weren’t for the swiftness and aggressiveness of his reaction upon their meeting, she would have said Roger Grant was incapable of violence in thought, word, and deed.  Sooner or later, as kindly as possible, he would reject her; pretty much everyone did eventually, so she made it a rule to keep an emotional distance.  In the meantime, she would enjoy his quiet, sympathetic calm.  And the fact he was cute and funny didn’t hurt.  Even her sister’s perpetual chill thawed around him.  Cate laughed at his jokes, and she was sooo not a laugher.  That alone was proof he was too good to last.  So she would bask in that goodness and store it up for when he left.

Of course, this was New York.  Tokyo was the matchstick city, home of freaky giant monsters; but New York was the super-human hub of America.  The taxi replacement needed for Manhattan alone had pulled the automotive manufacturers through the debt crisis.  She never knew why Cate chose to settle in the most dangerous city for innocent bystanders after her wanderlust faded.  So when a guy in a stupid looking spandex outfit ran by, knocking people over, she just sighed.  *Why do super powers always seem to instill an unhealthy fascination with skintight clothing?  Of course, the heroes do pull it off…  Or maybe not.* the hero in pursuit of the rude pedestrian was wearing a color scheme that offended even her rather liberal aesthetic sensibilities.  Well, the commotion bypassed the café they were in at least.

Within moments she realized that last thought was in the same class as saying “That was easy” or “It could be worse”.  It was typical of this city that the troublemakers weren’t even normal criminals.  Why a perfectly nice little French restaurant was attacked by three talking monkeys was beyond her.  The employees and patrons were ordered to stand along one wall and stay quiet.  The leader emptied the register, and then went to rob the hostages.  When they started going down the line of captives taking wallets, purses, watches and jewelry, she saw her sister stiffen and go pale.  She didn’t know Cate had a phobia of simians.  At any rate, Karen had no money or credit cards with her.  She tended to lose purses, and since she wasn’t paying for lunch she left her purse in the safety of the loft.  The baboon-looking leader reached the three of them and told them to hand over valuables.   All she had with her in the way of valuables was a simple silver ring engraved with stars on her right hand.  She told them that it wasn’t worth much, but it had sentimental value.  Her balking angered the furry bandit, and he raised a fist to hit her.  Karen was no good in a fight; this was definitely going to hurt.  But before the blow landed, a flying object hit the baboon on the head.  He looked away from her to find its source.  She also looked over, and to her great surprise, Roger stood out from the line a plate in his hands.

“You’re going to want to leave the lady alone, mister.  I don’t like bullies, and I don’t particularly care what they look like.”

“That was very brave, human…and very stupid.  You can’t possibly believe such a weakling, even by the standards of fragile humans, can win against us.”

“No, I don’t  _believe_  that.  I know that I will win.  You’re probably right that I will lose this battle, but I know for a fact forces stronger than you have been beaten.  And I’ m not overly invested in actually seeing the war won myself.  You wouldn’t understand it, of course.  Not understanding that is why bullies always lose in the end.”

The speech stunned Karen.  This man was not the shy, quiet artist she had talked to all day.  This man was the one who knocked her over and very well could have killed her, but pulled his strike.  He looked frail, and was shaking enough he dropped the plate, but he was anything but weak.  As the ape launched himself at the stoic figure of Roger Grant, an unaccustomed, anger-fueled bravery filled her for just a moment. Roger was getting hurt, knocked over, but he kept standing up.  For her, for all of them, he was making himself a target.  That short period of emotional strength was all it took to slide off a shoe and lobs it at the creature attacking her rescuer. 

The throw was miserable, flying by an inch from the head of her target.  It didn’t even distract the creature from punching the man.  But it triggered a chain reaction in the hostages.  Shoes flew, purses were swung, and some people even tried to land punches or kicks.  Totally normal people wielded makeshift weapons against stronger opponents.  Half the missiles didn’t hit hard enough to do anything, or hit at all, honestly.  Out of a group numbering under seventy-five people, only a handful knew anything about real fighting.  The chaos of that many impressively horrible attempts, however, was amazing.  Similar to the effect of shouting "Hey, Rube" at a carnival.

About ten minutes in, more of this city’s numerous spandex-wearing super-heroes showed up and took the simian criminals off to justice.  Following them in a bizarre parody on ambulance-chasing lawyers was a fleet of paramedics.  They were impressed by how few civilians took real damage in the fight.  Considering their appearance, Karen wasn’t surprised.  Most of the damage was dramatically superficial; torn clothing, missing shoes, mussed hair, smeared make-up.   A few had scratches and bruises, and one man was proudly sporting two black eyes from a broken nose.  In the madness of the fight, Karen, like many, had been separated from her companions.  After being checked by a first responder, she went looking for them.  What she found cut her to the core.

She heard her sister before seeing them.  She followed the familiar voice to a group standing around a gurney.  The first sentences she could make out scared her, icy fear running along her back.

“If he dies, I swear to God I will personally put your asses into a world of hurt.”

“EMTs are just human.  We do the best we can at our job, but our job is not pulling miracles out of thin air on demand!”

Karen ran to the group, pushing aside bodies to see for her own eyes.  She didn’t want to believe they could be saying what she knew they were saying.  Looking at the figure on the gurney hurt her in a way she had not known she could hurt.  Sandy blonde hair was matted with blood, the kind face covered in bruises, his knuckles torn open from fighting back.  The rest of his unconscious form was mostly okay.  In a way, the contrast between the intense facial damage and the intactness of everything else made it worse.  Karen was not prone to fainting, but in that moment she thought maybe she should develop the habit, like some of the more dramatic women in her theater group back home.  Turning away she dry-heaved as she cried.  Someone, probably Cate, led Karen to the van and fastened her seat belt for her.  As her sister pulled away from the curb, she felt like she would suffocate.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

He hurt.  All over, at a level he had never felt before.  Breathing hurt, swallowing hurt, his pulse hurt.  He grunted, the only sound he could make, and that hurt.  Hearing a sound in the room hurt.  But the sound was followed by sweet, sweet numbness.  Now he could consider opening his eyes.  But he found that was much too hard.  So he tried to ask what was going on, but it just came out as a longer, more complex grunt.  He heard more sounds, and slowly focusing on the words, he recognized the voice.  Bruce Banner was telling him to keep calm.  Ah, the irony of that.

“You can’t move much for the moment, we immobilized you so reflex twitches wouldn’t undo our hard work.  You’ve been under for about two days.  In that time, we repaired a punctured lung, set two broken ribs and your nose, fixed a dislocated finger, stitched up a gash on your scalp, and did our best to help your skin heal even though we couldn’t do anything for the bruising on your face but wait.  You’ve been on your own, under cover, for months.  You leave your apartment, and in less than an hour you start a flash riot during a stick-up, your undercover bodyguard’s civilian sister has been practically glued to your side and we can’t transfer you to the S.H.E.I.L.D. hospital because of that, and you managed to get so injured that Tony had to bribe half the staff to keep quiet about bringing in doctors from said hospital.  I don’t even want to  _think_  about how he’s keeping this thing out of the papers.  Even I haven’t managed to screw up this badly, this fast.”

“Friend Banner, you need not lecture him in this state.  I am sure that there was no other path.  One cannot stop being a warrior simply by removing armor.  From what I have learned of his story, and from what I myself have seen, Steve Rogers is a true warrior, worthy of the Halls of Odin.  His heart will not allow him to abandon innocents by fleeing a fight.”

“Eh, yeah, what Thor said” Tony’s voice joined in.  “Oh, and in case you hadn’t noticed, Thor came back.  He got in late three nights ago, when you met the sister.  I gotta say; I never knew guys in the Forties moved so fast.  She managed to fall for you and fall  _hard_  after less than a day.”  Steve really felt like punching Stark, so it was probably a good thing he couldn’t move.  “Of course, that is a major pain for me, so I hope you appreciate the effort it took to get her out of this room while we’re here.”

“I’m surprised you have yet to make a comment on her appearance.  Does your chauvinism actually have limits other than “female and breathing”? Or was I not in the room for the Tony Stark Innuendo Hour?”  Thank goodness Miss Romanova was there to deflate the ego of their teammate.  Any more of this and he’d have had to find a way to strangle the inventor in spite of the immobility.

“I’m learning to not say everything I may think.  It cuts down on fights with Pepper.  Plus, Karen’s obviously stuck on Cap; I know not to pit my charm, good looks, and money against a guy who oozes heroics like sweat.”  Steve tried and failed to roll his eyes.  In the war, Howard Stark, Tony’s own father, once cautioned him that any time a man thought he knew what was going on in a woman’s head he was in deep trouble.  ‘Goose is well and truly cooked’ was the phrase he used.  And it was plain to see why.  If Tony thought he knew about how to read a woman’s reaction to Steve’s pre-serum body, he was wrong.

“Hey, guys, we only have about two minutes, max, left before she gets back.  No matter the size of the bribe, a barista can only stall for so long.” Hawkeye had excellent timing for interrupting Stark’s delusions.  “Hi Steve, did they tell you that you’re the same color as my costume right now?  Don’t worry; the docs say you’ll look normal again soon. Okay, time’s up, she's in the elevator, everybody to the roof.”

A chorus of good byes sounded as his friends left.  A few moments after, the door opened again, and he smelled coffee.  Karen muttered a bit about poor service, and then fell quiet.  Apparently she had not been told he was awake.  The knowledge that she was there, waiting for him to recover, warmed him.  He still thought Stark was crazy, but then Tony didn’t know Karen.  She was probably there because she felt bad he got hurt, not some grand infatuation.  Steve could tell she was the kind of dame who did that sort of thing for friends.  Tony was dramatizing this, like he did everything.

*He’s so still, barely moving his chest as he breathes.* she thought tiredly.  The bruises were fading, but he couldn’t talk yet, so she didn’t know if he was aware of her.  The doctors here were very closemouthed about when he would again.  Karen didn’t even know if he had family, no-one came to see him but her.  The man sacrificed himself to stop violent super-villains, and there were no reporters, no mention of it in the news.  But she was grateful enough that the thought of letting him walk out before she got to say thank you was intolerable.  Her carefully maintained emotional walls would just have to come down.  Now she saw that life was too short and too precious to block absolutely  _everyone_  out like that.  It was the first time she considered bending one of her rules: “give as little of your heart as you can, so they can’t walk off with it”.  He earned it.   He got hurt for her; she could risk hurt feelings for him.

“I wish I knew if you were awake in there.”

A grunt rose from the man on the bed.

“Oh, wow, so I guess you are.  Do you need anything?  I can call a doctor if you’re in pain.  Um, grunt once for yes, twice for no.”

She couldn’t call it two grunts, more like a muffled moan.  But it was long enough to figure on a negative answer.  Now was the best chance she had.  He couldn’t very well walk out on her at this point.

“I wanted to say thank you.  Without you, I don’t know what would have happened to me, or if those thugs would have been caught.  The news hasn’t said much, so you aren’t likely to get special treatment, this stupid city has an obsession with spandex and masks.  You should know that even though you don’t wear a dumb outfit, I think you’re a hero, Roger Grant, and I’ll always remember you.  I guess I should let you get some sleep.  I’ll be with Catie when she picks you up to come home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me here: bairnsidhe.tumblr.com


	7. Repairs and Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen tells a story and Steve gets a frightening note.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers! This chapter needs a few facts upfront to stall the outrage.
> 
> 1\. The invisible exist. It is possible to get lost in the eyes of the census takers, I did not unrealistically Angsty-Sue this for drama.
> 
> 2\. I am in no way saying all homeless people do the things described, but the individual parts of Karen's trip down memory lane are real and doable.
> 
> 3\. I did unrealistically speed up the sisters adoption. Being up for adoption is not a fast or painless process in most cases. Adding god knows how many years in the system would have slowed things down and damaged readability. Mea culpa.
> 
> P.S. The German was translated by the mac widget, then checked over by my Dad's so-so German. Sorry if it's wrong.

Although Steve’s body was healing very quickly, possibly because of the failed attempt to restore his powers a few weeks before, he still had to remain silent.  When they took him off the paralytics, he had yawned, and then screamed.  They never did head X-rays, so the hairline fracture on his jaw had not been diagnosed.  He was still in the cast.  For now, he was stuck using his observation skills more than he had since before he was on ice.  Only, this time he wasn’t memorizing an enemy map, or listening for an attack.  Instead, he studied the face of the beautiful dame who seemed to have elected herself his nursemaid, and filed away everything she said for later review.  He still didn’t think she would ever be attracted to him like this, but it was interesting to sort her words and actions into “Tony is blind” and “Tony twists things” categories. 

At least Stark never brought up his crazy theories about Steve’s totally fictional love life again.  Pepper or Miss Romanova had read him the riot act, likely.  The team only came to see him as a group that once, but each of them stopped by as individuals a few times. After all, as Agent McCann had pointed out, it would look odd for him never to have visitors.  It was easier for some of the team than others.  Tony was too public a figure to risk it getting out that he was seeing some random guy in the hospital; and despite the continued efforts of both Fury and the Stark lawyers, Bruce was still on the law enforcement’s bad side.  But nobody knew the aliases Black Widow and Hawkeye used, and Thor didn’t exist officially.  If they wore normal clothing, it wasn’t hard to just walk in and give the front desk the names that were on his list of allowed visitors.  Although his team mates did their best, his most constant companion was Karen.  It was remarkable how much thought she put into his care.  She seemed to know what he would want, and get it, before it even occurred to him to ask.  When her sister came by to drop off his iPod, Karen set it up.  Thanks to her, he had a sketch set, his music, the picture of his mother.  She read to him, and talked with him. Not _to_ him, _with_ him.  She was the one who found a white slate-and-marker set for him to use to ‘speak’.  He learned a lot of things about this time that he knew would never have made it into the documentary films S.H.I.E.L.D. had given him.  She spoke of her early life, drifting with her sister.

“The thing is; we were totally off the grid.  Fell right through the cracks.  We spent most nights safely, taken in by a few friends, or friends of friends, or in those public buildings we could slip by.  Churches were good in the summer, but the winter we stayed in Wal-Mart sucked eggs.  Since we skipped out on shelters, the bean-counters didn’t add us to the total of homeless.  But with no solid home, we weren’t on any census either.  The invisible; that’s what we called ourselves.”

 **How did you get by? Food.  Clothes. If no shelters.** It was poor grammar, and he wouldn’t use it normally, but speed required shortcuts.  Thankfully; most of the time it made sense to others.

“Stealing and begging, to be blunt.  There aren’t really great options for 10 and 13 year-old drifters in the job market.  There were a few stores that would let us take the useful trash.  Stale bagels, shirts stained by those ink-splatter things, stuff like that.  But mostly it was shop-lifting and cons.  With the best one I rode a bike into a car backing up, and then got ‘hurt’.  It needed an adult partner to get the money, so it wasn’t one we did often.  Cate was good at grifting, with five minutes, a driver’s license and Google she could become the perfect lure to get the mark’s money.” She paused, her face going solemn.

“It isn’t that I like that part of my past.  I’m not evil; I know the rules of ethics.  I just stopped being ashamed of it.  In a perfect world where it was possible to give it all back, I would.  This isn’t a perfect world though.  I survived, I’m glad I did, and I’m not interested in survivor guilt.”

**What happened next?  Not the end.**

“Appendicitis  happened.  I was 12, and I got really sick, so Cate broke the cardinal rule of the invisibles.  She went to non-invisibles for help.  The emergency room of Saint Luke’s Hospital, in KC, to be exact.  I had my appendix taken out just in time, and we both had to go into the system.  We got adopted crazy quick, it’s not that common to have applicants willing to take pre-teens.  I’m glad they took us both, which is also not normally done.  We wound up in this tiny town in the Ozarks, with the McCanns.  They were very…conformist.  It wasn’t an easy change.” Karen pulled her thoughts inward again.  Steve noticed that she did that when it was hard to talk about something.  It would be a good idea to change the subject.

**Any mail?**

“Let’s see, you have; a very plain card from a ‘Nick’, “Mr. Greene and Mr. Steel say it’s only a few weeks before we finish the puzzle Abe gave you.  Stay alive.” Talkative guy.  I hate to break it to you, but you have some odd friends.  That art deco mug from Virginia was the most normal gift you got.  And what is with the single names? At least, someone sent you normal flowers today, and the card is pretty cool even if it’s weird.  I mean, who puts red, white, and blue on a get well card?  This is more Fourth of July.  See star in the center?”

A line of cold sweat ran down Steve’s back. On the front of the card in Karen’s hand was the pattern from his shield.  None of his friends would endanger him like that; they’d all been using bland store-bought cards.  This had to be on purpose, not a mistake, because that card was custom.  The card had to be a message, a taunt from an enemy.

“No name, that’s odder than the one name cards.  I think this writing is German, but I only had one year of that in high school, so I could be wrong.  Any idea what “Ich sehe dich, Kapitän. Sie ist sehr hübsch, was für eine schande, sie zu töten.” means?  I’m getting like one word in five.”

Oh good lord, no.  They couldn’t, it had to be wrong.  She’s a civilian!  His hand shook as he carefully wrote out his silent words without shorthand.  He couldn’t afford to get sloppy if this wonderful woman was in the line of fire.  **Can you get your sister for me?  She’ll know what it is.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The German is, roughly translated: I see you, Captain. She is very pretty, what a shame to kill her.
> 
>  
> 
> As always, you can find me here: bairnsidhe.tumblr.com. I'm very friendly, and if you send me an ask I will respond within 24 hours. If you let me know you're there for SBoRFW, I'll up my posting related to the Cap fandom.


	8. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is super short, and mostly just fan service. Sorry if I Mary-Sue'd a bit, I plead rose-colored glasses on Steve

The smooth curve of her bare shoulder was so beautiful.  In the low light, her pale skin seemed to glow. He reached up to run his hand across his lover’s back, gently kneading the base of her neck.  Her gorgeous dark hair felt like silk as it fell across his hand.  “Mmmm.” Her soft, breathy voice let him know, without words, that his touch felt good.  His love was pleased, and that made him happy beyond telling.  He shifted, sitting up so his other hand could reach her as well.  He slipped his arm around her waist, reveling in the soft curves.  Unlike so many of the women he saw nowadays, she had a rich, lush body, plump and feminine.  As she leaned into the embrace, he buried his face in the curls of hair, still mussed from sleep, and other things bed related.  Thinking on that hardened him, almost painfully.  He might have thought he hadn’t just finished making love to her mere minutes ago.  He just could not get enough of her, his strength, his light.  She turned her head to look at him “Darling?  I’ve been wondering…” 

“Yes, my love?”

“What does “Ich sehe dich, Kapitän. Sie ist sehr hübsch, was für eine schande, sie zu töten.” mean?”

“Gaahhh!”

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Steve bolted upright in his hospital bed, trying for all he was worth to scream.  It never failed to amaze him how fast and easily a wonderful dream could become a horrible nightmare.  If he could locate the creep who wrote that note, he’d make that bastard wish he’d never been born.  If Tony were here, he’d punch him in the jaw for putting the thought that he could have something with Karen in his head.  Frustration ate at him, in many ways, for many reasons.  Regret at the limited nature of means of relief, anger that his self-control had broken down enough that it was needful, and a deep, aching empty feeling that he had no name for, all pushed at him, threatening to drive him mad. 

*Just bite the bullet, Rogers.  You aren’t the first man in this bind, you won’t be the last, and the Lord knows you aren’t saint material anyhow.*

Sighing, he reached a hand under his blanket, careful not to let it slide off of him, and began to rub himself.  This was by no means his first time doing this, he was only a man, and still being a virgin, he’d had to figure _something_ out.  This time, however, it was hard for him to focus on gaining release.  His mind kept serving up images of Karen, sweet Karen, doing this for him.  It was a perverse fate, he decided, that the woman he desired above all others, the only one he could picture at a time like this, was so good and pure that he hated himself for his fantasies. 

*I am going to Hell, I just know it.  There isn’t much I can do about it though.* 

So, he gave up on trying to block the mental images.  He pictured her sitting by him, stroking him, wondered how it would feel to have her smaller, softer hand on his skin.  Without warning, the image of her placing his dick in her mouth sprang forth.  He couldn’t pull his mind away, his desire throbbing in his blood at the thought of those perfect rosebud lips stretched open around him.  Like a gunshot, fast and frightening, he exploded onto his hand. 

“Yup. I am going to Hell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can find me here: bairnsidhe.tumblr.com. I'm very friendly, and if you send me an ask I will respond within 24 hours. If you let me know you're there for SBoRFW, I'll up my posting related to the Cap fandom. If you liked the smut, let me know and I'll write you a short plot-what-plot ficlet.


	9. Red Sky at Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steps are taken to protect Steve and Karen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> History buffs, the planes discussed in this are all real, and in use in WWII. The Lisunovs were decommissioned in the eighties, but other than that, all true, right down to Twin Beech model 18's spar weakness.

The sun rose over the city skyline bright and red.  On the top floor of Kings County Hospital Center, in a recovery suite looking out over Albany Avenue, the reflected light seemed a grim reminder of danger.

“Red sky at morning, sailors take warning...”  Steve’s voice was faint and distracted.  He was trying to focus on the meeting, but his mind was pulling at him, at his memory of what had happened in the early hours.  It was almost painful to meet Agent Catherine McCann’s eyes; the remembered shame was so strong.  Yet, he knew the meeting was vitally important to keeping the girl he had dreamt of alive.

“…We need to reach a decision, people.  Do. We. Tell. The girl?  There are people out there gunning for her, and the Cap, people who won’t wait for us to finish our powwow.”  Tony waved his hands about as he paced the room.  He’d been jumpy and restless all morning.  Protecting Steve’s identity had been his responsibility.  The inventor never took failure well.

“That’s not the bigger picture, Stark.  Agent McCann has put years into her cover.  S.H.I.E.L.D. has put millions of dollars into her cover.  Her safe house is the only one in New York with all the bells, whistles, and add-ons that exist, and a few that don’t, officially speaking.  Telling her sister the truth will blow that cover out of the water.  Are you prepared for the fall-out from that?”  Nick Fury was perhaps the only one in the room who remained calm.  His steady voice held no more anxiety than when he stood on the bridge of the Helicarrier.

“With all due respect, sir, I would burn a thousand covers to protect Karen from Hydra.  Keep the damn safe house, if I can’t protect my sister, why am I here?  You choose to let her die, and I’ll quit.”  The thin agent almost shook as she spoke, but her tone, while sharp, was even.  Her gaze was ice as she stared at her commanding officer.  No one doubted her threat.

“Fury, you got balls saying something like that.  Not a one of us in this room would value time _or_ money more than an innocent’s life.” Banner looked at his friends.  Steve, still recovering from the removal of his jaw cast opted to nod, but he knew that the figure in the armchair in the corner saw it.  “ _We_ aren’t monsters.  Well, I turn into one, but even the big guy would call you on this.  Hell, if you turn this into a numbers game, I’LL walk out.  I’m on international threat lists, with shoot-to-kill orders in most countries, and I  will still walk out that door, even if you put every Hulkbuster unit in the world outside it.”  The doctor’s voice rose as he spoke, his growing anger making everyone nervous.  Everyone except the thunder god, that is.

“Friend Banner speaks wisely, mortal.  Truly, I too would object most strongly, should you jeopardize the girl through inaction.  I believe you would regret angering a son of Asgard.”

“Widow? Hawkeye?  You feel like this warrants the burning of a six-year cover?”  The spymaster looked at his two former operatives, steepling his fingers in front of him in his trademark pose.  The two looked at each other, needing only a moment to reach a silent agreement.  When they spoke it was in that perfect unison born of long partnership.

“Damn right.”

“Good.  I just wanted to put us all on the same page.”  Fury let a small, satisfied smile play at the corner of his mouth, more expression than the stoic man was known for.  “At 0400 hours this morning, we caught the person who leaked the real identity of the patient checked in as Mr. Grant.  Rest assured, that is one med student who will _not_ be graduating.”

“And people complain about student loan rates.  I’m sure higher education would’ve been a waste, anyway.”  Tony’s eyes held a dangerous gleam, one that told of painful retribution for the traitorous scholar.  “I assume you have a plan, Director.”

“Don’t I always?  You’re the one who ‘wings it’.”  The spymaster stood and checked his watch.  “In five minutes, Karen McCann will be in route to a rendezvous point near the Holland Tunnel.  From there, we all go to a checkpoint to switch vehicles, five cars will leave, only one carrying our charges, all going different ways.  Only the driver of the right car will know its final destination.  Let’s move, people.  Traffic’s a nightmare, so we’re going up.”

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Although Steve was still weak, he didn’t need any of the equipment, and getting out of the hospital was surprisingly easy.  It helped that they left via cloaked Quinjet from the roof, not a car on ground level.  The flight was smoother than he expected, but then, his only other experience in one had been flying much faster, over the Atlantic.  The machines of this time were so advanced, that they might as well have been from seven hundred years later, not just seventy.  “Hey, Tony, did you know back in my day we didn’t call something that went this fast an airplane?”

“No? What else would you call it, there’s not really a better word.” Stark replied grumpily.

“Sure there was, we called it science fiction.’’  Steve gave the man a smirk, knowing that only teasing the inventor would shake him out of his funk.  Howard had been the same.

“Very funny, Captain Anachronism.  I suppose you just hiked everywhere, and rowed a boat to get to Europe.”

“No, but it still took the Skymaster over fourteen hours to cross the same distance it took one of these under three.  And that was pushing the manufacturing specs.  At cruising speed it was more like twenty.  Piloting those things was an endurance effort.”

“He’s right, Stark.  The Russian Lisunov went 300 mph at top speed.  I used one once, and I damn near jumped out just to escape the shaking and noise.  Of course, it _was_ pushing fifty years old.”  The red headed spy shuddered at what was apparently a bad memory, even for her.  “We really should have scrapped them all once the Cold War ended, everyone thought we did, but the KGB is frustratingly tightfisted about money.”

“Oh, I see, you’re all going to show off with your _vast_ knowledge of 1940’s aircraft tech.  I can play that game too, you know.  Dad’s old Twin Beech was in one of the subbasements. I used to play in it, and know it inside and out.  Go ahead, ask me anything.” He made a ‘come and get it’ gesture, plainly confident in his own knowledge.

“I remember that thing.  I nearly threw up in it once, when he dropped me off in Italy.  First parachute drop I did in the war.  Did he ever fix the spar problem?”

Tony paused for a long moment, clearly shocked that his father’s plane was known better by a man who used it only a few times than it was by him.  “So! When can we land?”

Steve chuckled at the change in subject.  At least if he was busy avoiding a topic, he couldn’t get trapped in his own head.  The curse of the Stark men was, it seemed, to overthink.  The craft was landing, though, so a quick change in conversational gears was appropriate.  The cloaked jet landed in a structure that would look like a burnt-out warehouse to a casual observer.  The roof was half gone, and they touched down in the clear spot.  Once out of the jet, the wreckage seemed staged.  The five gleaming sedans at the far end were a dead give-away as well.  As he walked up toward the impromptu motor pool, a sixth car drove in. 

Out of it came Karen, in a vividly yellow sweater and a dark knee length skirt. *Oh boy, we’re going to have to change that top.  She looks like a giant target.* The thought came and went quickly, as she ran to him and her sister, who stood beside him.  She was clearly terrified, and her fear gave her more strength than perhaps she would’ve had as she embraced them.  Steve wasn’t complaining however much she crushed is chest.  Not often in his life had a beautiful woman clung to him, and never when he was small and weak.  Unsure of the right response, he held her gently as she hugged him, murmuring soft sounds into her hair, which was really all he could get to with her face buried in his shirt.  The Agent beside him looked at her sister’s instinctual choice of who to comfort her.  She had been worried that Karen would fall for a man whose whole existence was essentially a lie, that her heart would be broken when that man was called back to action.  Karen’s heart was already fragile, and Cate died inside a little whenever her sister was hurt.  Things changed, though, when her sister’s life was threatened.  However much it chafed to feel passed up, Steven Rogers was also protective; and even in his weakened state, and she knew he would fight tooth and nail for the ones he loved.

“What’s going on?  Who were those men?  What are you doing out of the hospital?”  It seemed that Karen could go from paralyzing terror to rapid-fire questioning in a blink.  She also appeared to have a spit-fire buried inside.  Unable to answer, caught off guard and still reeling from the emotions that her embrace stirred up, Steve said the first things that came to mind.

“Captain Steven Rogers, of the ‘Howling Commandos’ unit out of the OSS, reporting for duty.”  He had said those words so often at one point that they came out as fluid and confidant as if he were still Captain America, suited up and ready for everything.  The change in his voice shocked him, his ability to even sound like that when he likely couldn’t even run a mile.  It also surprised his companions.

Each of the people in hearing distance reacted differently. The normally unflappable Catherine McCann let her jaw drop, Bruce turned to stare, Tony rolled his eyes and muttered “Why me?”, and Fury puffed out his chest like a proud parent.  The only one whose response he could not have predicted was Karen’s.  Rather than disbelief, she reacted with anger.  Specifically, she slapped him.

“What the hell!!  Who do you think you are, mister?  You _lied_ to me!  You said your name was Roger, not Steven!  And I didn’t sleep through history class you know!  The Howling Commandos were from the freaking **Second World War**.  At least come up with a vaguely believable lie, if you respect my intelligence in the slightest.  Cate, what kind of whacko are you renting to?”

“It’s incredibly complicated, and a very long story, so let’s call it a duck and move on.  We need to get out of here, pronto.  We’ll go in the white one.”  Cate gripped her fuming sister by the arm and pulled her over to a white Ford.  Opening the door, she slid in, pulling Karen in after her.  Steve went to the other side and got in the passenger seat.  The terse agent corrected his choice immediately.  “No, we need to have you back here, where the glass tint is darker, Captain.” 

Switching seats, the confused man asked the only question he could wrap his mind around.  “What did you mean, ‘call it a duck’?”

Miss Romanova got behind the wheel, and Clint in the passenger seat, as the others who had come from the hospital chose other cars.  “Story time should wait.  Whenever Widow drives all focus should be on bladder control and not screaming in terror.” Clint called back, ducking a half-hearted strike from his partner.  “C’mon, ‘Tasha, it’s only fair to warn them.  Remember Iraklion?  I will not clean this upholstery.”

“Greece doesn’t count; it’s all hills and mountains.  The car was too big for Crete anyway, and the turn radius wasn’t suitable for anywhere in Europe.  That Ambassador was just a cry-baby.”

“That cry-baby controlled all diplomatic transactions with Turkey.  I’m fairly certain if he hadn’t been moonlighting as a gun-runner Fury would have killed you for real.”

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The good-natured bickering continued, providing amusement and confusion in equal parts for the back seat audience.  And although they did take the turns a bit fast, it wasn’t that bad.  The redhead was just too good an agent to break the traffic laws with two high-risk individuals in the back.  Their route seemed to be going south, until a large knot of similar cars provided a good cover to double back.  Then they turned west, then south again, each time with some form of cover.  Once satisfied that he couldn’t figure out their destination, Steve picked back up on his earlier question.

“So, about the duck thing?  If that’s slang, it’s from after ’43.  I’ve never heard it.  What does it mean?”

“No, it’s not slang, just an in-joke.  And it’s from the nineties.” Cate pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed.  “These two guys we knew back when, Monkey George and Hamburger Jerry, they used to fight all the time about these birds that would fly over the park.  Jerry would say “That sure is a really small goose.” And George would say “No, that’s a duck.”  Of course Jerry couldn’t ever just agree to disagree, and even though they probably _were_ ducks, he would go on and on.  Eventually, George would wind up tired of it, and say “Jerry, it may not be a duck, but I call it a duck, so to me, it’s a duck.  Ok?”  Everyone who knew them knew that argument, and anytime one of us wanted to end a disagreement, we’d say “It’s a duck.” Then the other would know that the problem needed to wait.”

“And I’ve waited.  I want answers.  Good ones, to all the questions I asked.  I also want to know who Mata Hari and Jason Bourne here are.”

“Hey! She gets a famous historical femme fatale and I get a fictional character with existential issues?  Not fair, so not fair.” The archer crossed his arms in a stereotypical ‘pout’ position.

“Not fair, no, but she has a good eye, Clint.  You’ve been a bit too angst-ridden since Loki…” Natasha paused, searching for the right word.

“Hijacked my brain and used my body to attempt world domination?  Sorry, I tend to over think being _mind-fucking-controlled_!  You weren’t exactly sunshine and puppies after Red Room, ya’know.”

“Sorry.  I’ll make it up to you, dinner, on me.  Just nothing middle-eastern, that Shawarma joint gave me heartburn”

“Agreed.  We should stop and switch drivers, though, if we want to get there before tomorrow.  I hope Fury knows what he’s doing, sending us to him.”  Clint sighed, and shook his head. “Damn maniac.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can find me here: bairnsidhe.tumblr.com. I'm very friendly, and if you send me an ask I will respond within 24 hours. If you let me know you're there for SBoRFW, I'll up my posting related to the Cap fandom.


	10. Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Late night conversations take place.

Even with the two former agents taking shifts, they still wound up having to stop for the night.  Although neither of them explained why, they insisted that everyone would need at least half a night’s sleep before meeting their contact, the ‘maniac’ Clint had mentioned in the car.  This landed the whole group in a No-Tell Motel in the middle of nowhere, getting a couple of rooms.  Clint and Steve shared a room; the three women shared the other.

They were all exhausted, in that bone-deep way that comes from being too tightly wound for too long.  Karen had only been under the stress for a day, but her life wasn’t consistently in danger every day.  The agents, current and former, had the higher tolerance for stress that comes with familiarity to danger, but they had also been carrying the weight longer.  As for the de-powered super soldier, Steve was still reeling from the past twenty four hours.  The result of such total weariness was, ironically, insomnia.  They all tried to sleep, but that night some very interesting conversations took place.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

In the women’s motel room, two sisters had a long overdue talk, while a certain red-head took a well-deserved hot shower.

“I just can’t _believe_ you would keep a secret like this!  I mean, from me. Obviously, you can’t just billboard this kind of thing, but… we share _everything_.  I thought.”  Karen looked down at her hands as they rested in her pajama clad lap.  Cate sat on the bed next to her and wrapped her arms around her out-of-depth sibling.

“We shared everything for the first nine years of your life, out of necessity.  Then we shared everything through my high school graduation, because we both would have gone insane.”  The agent furrowed her brow, her hands curling minutely in long buried anger.  “I _needed_ to get out of that place, desperately.  If I had stayed, Ray and Brad would be six feet under by now.  I could have held out to keep you safe, but what they did to Meggie was the tipping point.  I had to have a chance to grieve, and I couldn’t have had that with reminders everywhere.”

“So you got out.  You ran from the memories of the only person other than me that you loved, got a fancy government career, and I got left in that sucking chest-wound of a school?  Honestly, Catie, if Joslyn Kirby hadn’t moved in and opened her theater that year, I don’t think I would have made it.”  Karen’s indignation put her voice markedly more forceful, and her back teeth ground together audibly.  Her sister took this anger as a positive sign; with Karen’s chronic depression, she was always safer when she directed her pain outward, rather than back on herself.

“I didn’t just, just, up and _leave you_ for a goddamn paycheck, paying no never mind to the consequences _!_   Surely you know I wouldn’t, I _couldn’t_ , do that.  Before I accepted the job, S.H.I.E.L.D. promised me that you were going to be safe, that you would be looked after.  I had to have you safe, but I also desperately needed a shot at a life separate from you, as much as I love you, Kare-bear.”  As prickly as she was with everyone else, her voice took on a softer tone when talking to her sister.  “I required my own identity.  So did you, really.  We needed to be different people, not just the two halves of Catie-and-Kare-bear.”

“What we _needed_ were better nicknames.” Karen grimaced at the mention of their old street handles.  “I can’t believe we thought those were cool once.  Street names never sound cool after the fact, and mine led to the misspelling nightmare.”

“I’m fairly sure that ‘Keren’ would have gotten you socially nuked.  Fulton wasn’t a place where you wanted to explain that you were named after a daughter of Job.  Even if it is kinda kick-ass that it means ‘strength’.  Do you think any of them would have liked the explanation?  As a wise man once wrote, ‘You've got to remember that these are just simple farmers. These are people of the land. The common clay of the new West. You know... morons’”  Seeing Karen’s repressed laughter shudder shoulders under the soft canary yellow pajama top , Cate knew that her sister had loosened up, Cate moved on to a new topic, one that she wasn’t sure how to handle.  “Umm, Karen, I think you should know…. Steve, the guy you know as Roger?  He’s really not so much with the lies, as a rule.  S.H.I.E.L.D. made him take a cover identity.  And although hard to believe, he did actually serve in WWII.” She could see that Karen was arching her brow, and knew that proof had better be in the offing or she would be facing stubbornness to rival a Missouri mule.  Unfortunately all of the proof of both his existence and current state were super-duper-über classified, and she wouldn’t feel right about coming right out with it.  “He sort of… stumbled onto cryogenics by way of a plane crash.  Do you remember last year, when I called and told you to turn on your T.V.?  When there was the giant sucking vortex that spat flying tortoise-eel hybrid things?  Did you see all the supers running around fighting aliens?”

“It’s hard to forget the Battle of New York, sis.” Her eyes rolled in exasperation.  “Even though I wasn’t in town then, it was like 9/11 or the Kennedy shooting, NOBODY forgot it.  I might be so very over super-humans in general, but that wasn’t a typical bank robbing mad scientist thing.”

“Did you look at the roster of heroes that showed up?” Cate held out her hand and began ticking the big names off. “Iron Man, you met Tony, in the warehouse, then Hulk would be the hard-to-miss green one.  You wouldn’t know him, but I’m sure you saw Thor, the flying blond guy in medieval get-up….” Her voice trailed off in an understood signal held over from days when passing messages undetected kept them alive.  She couldn’t come out and _say_ it, couldn’t keep talking, but Karen could keep going on her own.

“I think I saw mutants, and I know they said Spiderman and Daredevil were out there, and I got the idea that a good number of villains showed up just to boot the Johnny-come-lately armored space eels out. Then there was the Fantastic Four, and…” The light dawned on her at last. “No. Really? He wasn’t on film that often.  I thought he’d be taller…”

Cate laughed with dark humor. “He was. And a good bit more muscular.  There’s a reason he was under cover.”  Trust her sister to catch on the height difference and blank on the missing routinely-breaks-punching-bags body.  “The Super-soldier is on leave.  He’s just a guy right now.  An uncommonly good guy, whose goodness saddles him with many enemies.  They found him at Kings County, and they know about you.  There’s a long history of villains using friends of heroes as leverage.  Especially pretty, female friends.  You need to think about that.”  She groaned a bit, stretching.  Her sister would think, make her own decisions, and all Cate could do was make sure Karen got all the information up front.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

In the next room over, Steve was staring at the ceiling, dreading another nightmare, or worse, a really good dream like he’d had the night before.  Contemplating the benefits of mental self-torture versus humiliating loss of control was a recipe for disaster, though.  All he could think to replace it with was thoughts of the next day.

“Hey, Clint, are you still up?”

“Yeah…I’m too tired to sleep.  And I’m concerned about tomorrow.” The archer had to be genuinely worried to admit something like that.  He never let fear or weakness show if he could help it.

“In the car, you said something about who we’re going to meet.  Mind filling me in?”  Sometimes Clint got too deep in his own skull, and asking for a briefing would give him a chance to talk about whatever was on his mind, without feeling weak.

“It’s funny you should ask.  At any other point in time, I’d be one hundred percent behind trying to arrest the guy we’re going to ask for help.  He’s an insane, megalomaniacal villain with a mutant-related God complex.  But Fury says he owes you.  Apparently, you saved his life when he was very young, as a part of a raid on a concentration camp/research lab.  One of those Dr. Mengele-style Hell pits, treating the captive population like lab-rats.  You probably don’t even remember him, but he remembers you.  His name was Erik Lehnsherr, but he goes by Magneto these days. He can control any magnetic field, so he’s an understandable worry to someone who needs weapons.  If it weren’t for that magnetism power, Tony would have insisted he guard you, but Magneto could kill Tony without breaking a sweat, just by _thinking_ at the arc reactor keeping the shrapnel out of Stark’s heart.”

“Actually, I do remember a kid like that, he would have been about ten.  But I didn’t so much save his life, as he saved mine.  When we pulled him out, he threw out his hand and knocked the gun out of a soldier’s hands from five feet.  It was freaky, but if he hadn’t, I’d have been shot in the back.”  He paused a moment, remembering the small boy whose sickly frame reminded him of himself.  “Is Fury entirely sure about showing up and saying “You owe me.”?  If he’s turned criminal, he might betray us.”

“That’d be a worry, but Fury is almost never wrong about how people perceive debt.  Even if Magneto doesn’t owe you, he _thinks_ he owes you.  I’m more concerned about his alarming track record with allies.  It runs the gamut; paralyzed, dead, stranded on Antarctica, depowered.  His minions deal with super powered OSHA violations and get no pension, to boot.  They need to unionize or something.” Clint had fallen back into more modern speech, and was making references he knew that the man out of time wouldn’t get.  That sort of slip was unlike him, a sure sign of agitation.  *Time to change the subject.* Steve thought.

“So, has Doctor Strange’s house proposed yet?”  An outraged groan rose from Hawkeye’s bed, and Steve smiled, “You shouldn’t have told us about the, ehrm, incredibly _friendly_ squid tentacles in the coat closet if you didn’t want us to ask.  I’m looking forward to the wedding.  Not quite so much to babysitting C’thulhu Jr., but I can take one for the team.”

“Really? You went there? _Really!_? Why are the few cultural or literary references you get _always_ related to me being grabbed inappropriately?”  A pillow was lobbed at the helplessly laughing soldier, which helped Steve feel better about teasing his friend, because had Clint really been upset by it, he would have just left the room.  As his laughter died off in spurts of coughing, a grudging mumble of thanks met the return of the pillow.  The cathartic release was enough to let Steve finally reach sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can find me here: bairnsidhe.tumblr.com. I'm very friendly, and if you send me an ask I will respond within 24 hours. If you let me know you're there for SBoRFW, I'll up my posting related to the Cap fandom.


	11. Interlude, take 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen dreams.

The sun was warm on her skin, and might have been too warm if the gentle breeze hadn’t been cooling her.  She smiled as she felt him roll over on the picnic blanket, snuggling up to her. His head rested on her chest, his arm draped over her waist.  This was just divine.  She pressed a kiss to sandy blonde hair, letting the sun-warmed strands brush her face.  He smelled good, a warm, woodsy scent, with a hint of spiciness to it.

She realized then, his hand was creeping down to the ticklish spot on her hip, and his breathing was no longer that of sleep. She laughed, grabbing his wrist, as he gave up on feigning sleep to tickle her.   He  laughed as well, mock struggling to tease her.  Without his hand, he couldn’t reach her sensitive hip in the usual way, but he could, and did, bend over her belly to press his mouth to it, and blew a huge wet raspberry.  As she shrieked and squirmed, he changed the action into a kiss.  A very intimate kiss, with his teeth scraping light lines that his tongue followed over gently.  Suddenly she was less concerned with escape from the tickling, and more with the arousing touch of her man’s mouth on her skin.  His hand freed from hers, he moved to slide it up her ribs, repositioning himself above her, kissing a line up from the waistband of her favorite broken in jeans shorts.  As he reached the bottom of her softest tee shirt, he nuzzled it out of the way, pushing it up until he reached her breasts.  As he turned his face towards her, his clear blue eyes shone with an inner light, saying with a glance how much he loved her, cared for her, wanted and needed her.  She reached down to him, drawing him up her body, until he caught her lower lip in his teeth, sucking on it, hungrily kissing her.  She reached up around him, pulling their bodies closer, and rolling them so she was straddling him.  Her desire growing, she fumbled at his fly, pushing his pants down, then her own.  She wanted him so much, and she was going to take what she wanted.  By the size of his erection, it seemed he was perfectly fine with that.

“Go easy on me, honey, it’s been a while.” His words were at odds with the grin that said just how much he wanted this.

“I can’t guarantee that.  I’ve waited so long to do this, and we’re so _right_ , you know?” She was teasing him, but she knew that he knew that.  “Just in case, any last words?”

“Captain Steven Rogers, of the ‘Howling Commandos’, reporting for duty.”

“Shit!”

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Karen woke with a jolt, still aroused yet unable to do anything about it.  Frustrated, she buried her face in the pillow and growled.

*Stupid goddamn trust issues!  I mean, really?  Who on earth would be more trustworthy?  The initial lie was even a white one, for his protection and mine.  And he’s also sweet, thoughtful, intelligent, cute; the whole package.  Why can’t I, just this one time, let go of the frigging past?*

Her heart rate was still high enough that sleep seemed unlikely, so after a glance at the clock told her it was almost 8 o’clock, she got up.  Normally she resembled an extra in a Romero movie before ten, but they had an early start yesterday, and a messed up schedule combined with the dream equaled being up, so she dragged herself into the bathroom for a shower. 

*After all,* she thought, *no-one likes zombie stink, and they said we’re meeting someone who’s supposed to be volatile any way.*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can find me here: bairnsidhe.tumblr.com. I'm very friendly, and if you send me an ask I will respond within 24 hours. If you let me know you're there for SBoRFW, I'll up my posting related to the Cap fandom. Again, if you like the smut, let me know and I'll write you some more.


	12. Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team meets Magneto.

At nine o’clock, the crew gathered over bagels and coffee in Steve and Clint’s room.  All of them were in a subdued frame of mind, but all for different reasons.  Hawkeye and Widow refrained from witty banter, instead talking in low voices about the upcoming meet.  Karen and Steve cautiously walked the line between hesitant gestures of friendship and coolly acceptable civility, all the while sneaking glances at each other when they thought they wouldn’t get caught.

Cate was watching all this, analyzing, trying to adapt to the unexpected changes in the rest of her companions behavior.  Her life had been set on its head over the last month, and the introverted agent found change mildly perturbing.  *You know your life is crazy when you worry more about your sister’s crush than going into the middle of nowhere to meet a known psychopathic killer and beg for his help.*  Sipping her French-roast, she scanned the room one more time, looking at her former co-workers to see if they were going to start things off.  They didn’t seem to be heading that direction, so she stood up and cleared her throat.  “Can we get this show on the road already? More caffeine will  _not_  make this any easier or safer.  We’ve all gotten as much information as we’re gonna get on the meet, on Magneto, and on the low chances of our survival  _without_  this hail-Mary pass.”

“I hate to admit it, but she’s right.” Natasha sighed and put down her cup. “We’ve been stalling.  I’ll drive, Barton, you look like  _drisnya_.” The archer opened his mouth, and then shut it promptly, as his partner pointed a finger, and a stern glare, at him.  “No arguments, you hear me?  Get your things.”

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The rally-point had been chosen by the rightly paranoid man they were meeting, and proved difficult to reach.  They finally had to leave their car in the parking lot of an abandoned shopping mall to prevent tire puncture by the litter of an incredibly dilapidated industrial zone, and wait in front of a half-collapsed warehouse.

Nervously checking her watch, Cate muttered under her breath. “What is keeping him?”  Just then the corrugated metal wall next to them shuddered and bent outward with a great screech.  From the darkness within, a helmeted figure in a long, full cape stepped forward.

“When the great Nicholas Fury asks for a meeting, one expects him to  _be_  at that meeting.  I was also given to understand that someone of particular interest was to attend.  Yet, I don’t see any good reason to open my home to spies and strangers.  Care to try to change my mind?”

Steve moved forward, carefully putting himself between the mutant and Karen.  “Eric Lehnsherr, I presume?  My name is Seven Rogers.  You saved my life once, a very long time ago, in Poland.  I was, well, I didn’t look like this then.”  Steve stood straight, gathering his mettle, trying to sound like a super-soldier at least.  “I was hoping you might do me a favor.  You don’t owe me, I owe you in fact, but we could use some help.”

“You may be confused, or lying, I don’t care which.  I’m not in the habit of saving lives, and you aren’t old enough to have been in Poland at the same time as me. I’m afraid at any rate that you have not convinced me to help you.”  He turned, moving to retreat back into the gloom of the warehouse.

Hawkeye leapt forward to interrupt his withdrawal. “Wait, Magneto, Steve’s just terminally modest. He was Captain America.  He led the assault team that freed you.  He saved your life, and now he’s in danger.  I was told you repay your debts.  That you have  _honor_.” The archer put his hands on his hips, his eyes dark with unidentifiable emotions.  “Was I misinformed?”

Magneto turned sharply, his anger clearly visible.  “You play with the name of a greater man than you will ever know.  Captain America is dead, and a great light in the darkness died with him.  Do  _not_  use his name in your games; lest you draw the wrath of the Master of Magnetism. Let Fury take warning as well.”  He loomed over Clint, his rage revealed in his stance.

Steve jumped forward to protect Hawkeye, interposing his own body between the threatening mutant and his teammate.

“It was raining.  The testing facility was in the middle of nowhere.  A combined Allied force passed the outer patrol at 1900 hours, breached the fence at 1930, and had the internment barracks doors open before 1945, as planned.  But we didn’t count on a spot inspector with his own guards.  Our detachment was spread out too thin; we got the order to pull back.  My squad conveniently "lost" our walkie reception.”  His voice was dragging, tired as he remembered times, places and people he knew were gone.  His grief invaded his voice.  “Morita and Jacques were driving personnel transport vans; Gabe was on the other side of the compound in the command HQ with someone from another unit.  A Ranger on loan from the Canadians, Dum-Dum Dugan and I were left to get the sickest prisoners into the trucks when five heavily armed soldiers bum-rushed us.”

His eyes fell to the ground, remembering the fear and confusion of battle.  “Dugan was too busy with an amputee to fight, Howlett had his hands full with a guard who refused to be knocked out, and I was too slow to turn.  The little kid I was supporting threw up his hands and screamed.  The guns flew out of their hands.”  He smiled a hollow smile, which turned into a tiny grin.  “Then you passed out, with a nosebleed like Niagra Falls.  It might have been seventy years ago to you, but to me it’s more like a six months.”

The powerful mutant softened, moving toward the former super-soldier.  “You remember the nosebleed?”

“Honestly, it was too scary to forget.  We thought you might have brain damage, and there was no way to get you to a real hospital.  You came to as we carried you into the medical tent.”

Uncharacteristic tears came to the eyes of the older man.  Catching Steve up in a hug, his smile beaming, Magneto gestured for them to enter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can find me here: bairnsidhe.tumblr.com. I'm very friendly, and if you send me an ask I will respond within 24 hours. If you let me know you're there for SBoRFW, I'll up my posting related to the Cap fandom.


	13. Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve takes a look at their new situation and meets some interesting people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter didn't go anything like I planned. I had thought to keep the cast numbers down, stick with the sort of place that Magneto hid out in during X3, but this image of what became Haven kept showing up. I tried to get rid of it, but my muse kept pushing it back. Uppity thing. So I wrote it the way it wanted to be written. You'll meet some people from the comics, and X-Men: TAS, and X3, and some of my own design. Let the guessing games commence!

“My home is your home, Captain.”  The grandiose phrase and tone was entirely at odds with the barren storeroom in which they stood. “I was informed that the rest of you are baseline humans.  If any of you has an anti-mutant stance, leave now.” He paused “No-one here puts up with blind intolerance. Consider yourselves warned.” Then, with a theatrical wave of his hand, their host removed a large segment of metal floor, collapsing it into the stairs now revealed.  “My people have many enemies, so it falls to us to take refuge in a place they cannot reach.  And what works so well for my brethren will work just as well for you.” As they descended the stairs, light became visible at the bottom. “Welcome to Haven.”

Stepping out onto a long but not very deep balcony overlooking the main cavern, the weary refugees got their first glimpse of the underground fortress.  Steve had on some level been expecting a tired, unkempt gaggle of people, similar to the displacement camps in the War.  What he saw was more like a thriving town center.  Shops selling every necessity and frivolity imaginable had been set up around a beautiful silvery fountain, flowing multitudes of people trafficked the lanes, and tall barrel arched halls led off into further reaches of a presumably vast subterranean city.  Floating will-o-the-wisps bobbed over the heads of the laughing, chatting crowd, while tiny lightings crawled over the high ceiling, creating a bright, airy feel.  Far from seeming to be in exile, hiding from foes, the population of Haven appeared happy and healthy.

“Woah.  This place is incredible.  It’s almost, almost _magical_ , like a fairy hall.” Karen’s eyes were about as wide as they could be, her face transformed from exhausted to enchanted by the marvelous place they found themselves in.  “Look, Cate, that vaulting, I could swear that’s from Chartres Cathedral.  And the fountain….  It’s absolutely gorgeous.”

Blinking down at the captivated girl, Magneto let a tiny smile creep onto his otherwise stoic face.  “Haven _is_ beautiful.  Most of the founding members were survivors of the Mutant Massacre, unable to pass for human, they used to live in sewers.  Their principal organizer, Callisto, and I have worked well together before, so I volunteered to do the basic construction.  Haven was built by many hands, though.”  He glanced shrewdly over at her.  “Mutants _are_ capable of building wonders, you know.”

Without taking her eyes from the busy square, she waved her hand in his direction.  “First off, I’d say ‘capable’ is a massive understatement.  Secondly, why do you say that like I’m not going to believe you, even though I’m looking right at proof?  I’m baseline, not blind.”  She rolled her eyes.

Cate put an arm around her sister’s shoulder, pulling her away from their ethically dubious host.  Black Widow stepped seamlessly into the gap left behind.  “Can we be shown our quarters now?  I think we’d all be better for some rest.”

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO      

Although Haven was large, it wasn’t endless, and recent events had increased the stigma of mutants, consequently increasing Haven’s population.  It had also led to a minor phobia of non-mutants among the newer inhabitants.  With this in mind, Callisto had chosen to put them all in one suite.  It rather seemed to both Cate and Natasha that while Magneto was the ostensible leader, Callisto was the one who ran Haven.  Magneto himself didn’t seem aware of the skillful way the striking woman controlled their partnership.  The two female agents had seen that dynamic plenty of times in the course of their careers.  Law enforcement may be a male-dominated field, but the unusual abilities that brought so many to S.H.I.E.L.D. were equal opportunity.

After guiding them to the almost house-like set of rooms, the slim, hard woman gave them all a summary of how life was lived in Haven.  “We have laws like any city, but they’re very straight forward.” She ticked off the rules on her fingers.  “Don’t injure another inhabitant.  Don’t steal. The shops here should have just about anything you need, and we use several methods of payment, but barter and work-trade are the most common.  Haven is mostly isolated, and only a very few of us ever go into human territory, so cash isn’t quite as valuable as it is on the surface.  I hope you’ve considered how you’ll pay your way.  We’re a city, not a charity.  Don’t bring attention to Haven.”  She paused, looking at them in a distant manner.  Her eyes focused again, and she narrowed them.

“Normally I tell people to let me or another member of the counsel know of anyone who needs to be here, but with you…. No.  If you think you’ll have a hard time staying quiet about us, we can have a telepath scrub you before you leave.  Additionally, don’t even _think_ about being bigoted.  Literally, if you can’t stop yourself from thinking it, sooner rather than later it will be ‘overheard’.  We aren’t going out of our way about your status, either direction.  If we get a complaint, out you go.  _After_ the memory of this place has been sandblasted out of your skulls.” 

Pointing to a greenish glass oval hanging by the door, she continued. “That can pull up a map to guide you from here to the square, or to something from a list of shops and services.  Just touch it and think clearly of the place you want to go, or the type of place, if you want the list. It also can communicate with the counsel if there’s an emergency.  If you need one of us, _really_ need one of us to come and bail you out, just touch it and think about the reason you need us.  It’s Shi’Ar tech, works using a mix of empathy and telepathy, so raw panic will get us just the same as calmly explaining.  Don’t use it lightly.”  She turned abruptly and walked out, the door closing behind her before they could ask any questions.

The group split up, picking rooms and getting settled in.  Clint insisted on taking one of the two second floor rooms, Natasha taking the other.  They both felt safer nearer to each other, and Clint got restless on ground level.  Steve insisted the sisters pick first, so Cate and Karen took the two front-most ground floor rooms, and he went to unpack in the only bedroom left.  The room was fairly small, and didn’t have its own bathroom, but nevertheless comfy. His duffel bag had been brought to the hospital from the loft, so it took a bit of doing to sort everything out. 

Fifteen minutes later, he discovered that whoever had packed for him thought t shirts were actual shirts.  Before waking up in the twenty first century, he had only ever seen them as undershirts.  He wasn’t overly upset; because he’d been in combat, he’d gotten used to seeing men in t shirts and trousers, because the less they wore, the less they had to wash.  It still felt weird to go out in public in what he remembered as underwear.  There were shops here, though, so he decided to go out to get some real shirts.  As he went through the main area Clint, (who had unpacked by just dumping his bag out) stopped him to see what he would be doing.  Steve explained the errand, asking if that would be as safe as it seemed to him.  The archer just shrugged and mumbled something about not letting Widow go shopping with him.

Placing his hand on the glass plate, he thought *I need to go to a men’s clothing store.* Images came readily to his mind, a series of types of clothing.  Seeing/thinking an image of nice trousers and a button up shirt, he thought at the plate again. *That one.* The next set of images were like maps, but with a layer of landmarks similar to having taken a tour.  When the images cut off, Steve removed his hand from the now faintly glowing oval.  He wasn’t sure if the directions would stay in his mind, because his recall usually required having seen the thing in real life.  It didn’t seem like he had much of a choice, though, and it hadn’t seemed like a complicated route. *How hard could it be?* he told himself.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

            Nearly an hour later, he regretted underestimating the difficulty of navigating a city with no sky.  He had wound up in what appeared to be a theater district.  Finally he broke down and decided to ask directions.  Spotting a statuesque woman in a sleek light blue dress leaving a nearby cabaret, he walked over and lightly coughed, to catch her attention.  She turned around, and he tried his best to sound confidant, in spite of his embarrassment.

            “Um, Miss?  I’m hoping you can help me.  I was looking for a clothing store and seem to have gotten lost.”

            “Well, now Dahling, I’d be happy to help.” Her plummy voice was deep, but full of humor and energy.  “What sort of things do you need?”

            “A little more of everything wouldn’t go amiss, but mainly just shirts.  I had to leave my last place in a hurry, and someone else did my packing.  They seem to have the idea that this,” he plucked at the stretchy cotton fabric, “is a real shirt.  I know it covers everything just fine, but in my world it’s an undershirt.  A real shirt has buttons and a collar and cuffs.”  He was tired and frustrated, or he never would have come so close to revealing his past.  Fortunately, she didn’t appear phased by his exasperated slip.

            “Oh, I couldn’t agree more, Sweet.  It’s nice to meet a man with good taste.  We’re a bit of a walk away from the nearest place like that, but if you come in, Cherry’s a teleporter, she can take you right there.” She was holding her hand out in the direction of the door she had just exited.

            “Oh, well, I wouldn’t want to inconvenience her…”

            “Not at all, dear. She would just have my hide if she thought I chased off a sweetie like you.” Looking at the blushing and demurring man, she smiled in amusement at his endearing bashfulness.  “Oh, all the girls would, honey.  Sweet thing like you, I’d never live it down.”

            Entering the dimly lit club, he saw dark wood and pink velvet chairs being put out for tonight’s show by a tall, pale man, that his hostess told to go round up her friends.  The atmosphere of the club was much like what he imagined that of Hollywood in his time to be. He was still looking about when two other exceptionally tall beauties ran out to greet their friend.

            “Girls, we have a guest.  He was lost, poor dear, looking to buy some decent shirts. Of course I told him we’d help.  I’m sorry, honey, I missed your name.”

“I’m Steve, ma’am.  Pleasure to make your acquaintances, ladies.”  He nodded his head in a bit of a bow, trying to remember what little he knew of how to talk to pretty dames.

“Aren’t you just adorable?” The copper haired woman in a sleeveless yellow dress with metallic zig-zag lines across her hands and arms cooed.  “I’m Ginger, I do our choreography.” She motioned to a teenaged Asian girl with bright red feathers in place of hair, “And this is Cherry, our costumer.” She indicated the first dame he had met, “You’ve already met Candy.” Looking at her again he realized her blonde hair was glowing in changing colors.  “Don’t let her fool you; she’s the brains of our operation.” 

Playfully swatting at one friend’s arm, Candy turned to the other.  “So, Cherr, mind popping us to someplace we can outfit him?”

“No prob. Hold on tight, now.  Some folks get disoriented.”  She reached out an elaborately manicured hand, which Steve took.  Her friends held her shoulders and a shimmery bubble grew around them, blocking the view of the club.  With a loud POP and a disorienting rush of air, the bubble burst and they were in the entrance of a small menswear store.  Upon their arrival it became apparent that the feathered girl was well known, as was her penchant for picking out other peoples clothing.

Three hours later, he was laden with bags, and had a piece of paper with notes for an advertising commission.  Artists weren’t all that uncommon, but it was a way to pay the store back.  His new friends had overcome his shyness, mainly by seeming not to notice it, and being cheerful and welcoming.  They had gotten him to relax, which he was grateful for, and invited him to come back to the theater that night for the show, as their guest.  He maintained he would have to check with his group, but they just said to bring them too. 

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Karen was getting her second wind.  The strain had finally stabilized out some, and she didn’t feel like hiding under the covers quite so much.  So when Roger, --no, no, remember his name is Steve-- asked if anyone would go with him to watch a show, she readily agreed.  Steve had gone out and made some friends while she had been napping, it would seem.  Her sister declined the offer, and Clint lost rock-paper-scissors with Natasha, so he would go with them as a guard.

Reaching the cabaret was much easier the second time and the three of them made it there in plenty of time to check in with the muscular turquoise bouncer, confirming the invitation.  Inside, a willowy Rita Hayworth look-alike called them over to the bar, letting them know their drinks were also on the house.  Steve ordered the house special; a Gin and Tonic, which they called a ‘Sin and Sonic’ due to the bartender’s vibrational ability and fondness for alliteration.  Karen got some form of fruity drink with a complicated garnish in it, and Clint stuck with Dr. Pepper, claiming he was on duty.  They got seats in the front, and soon the already dim lights went out almost entirely as a spotlight framed a section of pink and teal curtains onstage.

The curtains opened, revealing the three women he had met, in matching but differently colored sparkling gowns.  An announcer introduced them.  “Welcome, one and all, to the fabulous Bedazzle Lounge.  Our show tonight is a crowd favorite, back by popular demand.  Please put your hands together for the sizzling Ginger Snap!” Ginger stepped forward and snapped her fingers, each snap fizzing out larger and larger balls of lightning.  “The delectable Candy Krackle!” Candy stepped up, the iridescence of her hair spreading down her body in waves until she resembled a cut crystal sculpture.  “And last but not least, the devastating Cherry Pop!”  On the word ‘pop’ the bubble she had been building burst, and the spotlight swung over to the bar, where Cherry now stood doing a tap number.  Ginger now had a microphone, which she used to great dramatic effect, calling out the show name.

“Together, we are **_Snap, Krackle, and Pop!_** ”

The next half hour was part comedy routine, part concert, part dance show.  Each woman had at least one solo, and right before they took a short intermission was a big, showy, group number of a peppy song called “We Are Family” that Steve had never heard, but liked, especially when he glanced over to see Karen bob her head to the music, singing along in her head.  Although they clearly weren’t normal, each was still beautiful, and it seemed a shame they had to hide away from the world, when their show was good enough to be on Broadway.  He mentioned it to Clint, when the break came.  The response was, to say the least, not what he expected.

“Yeah, Buddy, that wouldn’t happen even if everyone in the world woke up one day and said ‘I’ve decided not to give a fuck about the x-gene.’  The big Broadway houses wouldn’t ever lower their stuck-up selves to book a drag group.”  Seeing the confusion on the man from the past, he clarified.  “Those are men.  Really talented men, who work very hard and put a lot of effort into being women.  It’s a complement to their skill that you thought they really were women, but don’t let them know that you had to be told.  It’d be a bit of a give-away.”  He looked at his friend’s face, unsure what he was seeing, aware that the Forties had a different and more conservative set of rules regarding gender.  “You ok?  Do we need to leave? I can get Karen from the bar if you need.”

“No, no, I’m fine.  Just trying really hard not to think about how they manage those form-fitting numbers.  Ye-ouch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to take a moment to give everybody a friendly reminder that at the time Steve was growing up, his neighborhood was *the* gay area. There were gay bars and drag reviews all within walking distance. He's not going to flip out because there are dudes in dresses, he's going to go to the obvious place, which is "How the fuck did they wear those swimsuit-like numbers without the boys getting crushed?"
> 
>  
> 
> As always, you can find me here: bairnsidhe.tumblr.com. I'm very friendly, and if you send me an ask I will respond within 24 hours. If you let me know you're there for SBoRFW, I'll up my posting related to the Cap fandom.


	14. Contexts and Conflicts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team relaxes, but sinister forces are on the move

Although their current circumstances were considerably different than any of them were used to, the group settled in remarkably well.  Clint and Natasha were finally able to relax a bit, knowing that Magneto was very protective of Steve, and Callisto had a reputation for being even more protective of her home.  Cate and Karen got a chance to bond again, after having lived in different time-zones for the last decade.  Steve was always a bit of a loner, but he did enjoy seeing his friends happy, and some of the things he couldn’t help but overhear from the sisters were very enlightening.  Others just confused him, but that was true of much of this world.

One night, for instance, Karen dragged him into the living room, where she had set up her laptop computer (a device that boggled his mind) to watch a show she claimed was ‘awesome-sauce’ (whatever that meant).  It seemed to be revolving around a blond teen girl who fought vampires, when she wasn’t sleeping with them.  Beyond the utter mortification of watching a steamy scene while sitting next to a beautiful dame, the whole thing just escaped him.

“How can you not like _Buffy_?  Buffy rocks!  She fights supernatural evil, has her own Scoobie gang, makes out with David Boreanaz, _and_ still deals with catty cheerleaders like a normal kid.  What’s not to like?”

“It’s totally unrealistic.  This Whedon fellow needs to do some research.”

“Ok, now we’re fighting.  Joss Whedon is God.  Or at least fills in for him on vacation days.”  She did seem upset, but not terribly so.  At least she wasn’t crying or yelling.  He couldn’t have handled that.  “And what sort of research needs to be done?  It’s a sci-fi/fantasy.”

“Well, for one thing, those fighting maneuvers would never work on anyone with super strength.” He was reaching a bit here, but he didn’t want to discuss the rather immodest way the main character dressed, even though she was fighting.  He wouldn’t know how to mention the inadvisability of tiny undershirts in combat without it sounding like he had been focusing on her chest.  “Not to mention, that is _not_ what vampires look like.  The real deal is much less human-looking.”  Steve wasn’t even about to go into the practical difficulties in trying to engage in a physical relationship with something that could just as easily decide it was more hungry than amorous.

“The ‘real deal’?  Come on, vampires are just a legend.  They can look like anything.”  She paused a bit, thinking.  “Except those freaking Twilight sparkly vamps.  That’s just plain wrong.”

“Well, I don’t know about sparkling, but when I fought beside Dracula, he was kind of an ashy grey.  With white hair.  Oh, and really bad breath.” He saw her incredulity.  “Hey, he might have been an evil, undead, blood sucking fiend of the night, but he almost hated the Nazis more than we did.  They were kidnapping Gypsies off his lands, and nobody got away with that.  It is incredibly hard to say no to help from a guy who can’t die.”

“That would make sense. It’s just, _real_ vampires?  Seriously?  I like them better as imaginary Whedon-creations.”  She sighed heavily. “I think maybe I like everything better if it’s imaginary.  Maybe that’s a part of having had too much reality, too young.  I hop from one fantasy to the next so I never have to be in the real world, because the real world hurts.  Of course, I could just be ADHD.  I also hopped around a lot in school, not really settling down until I was on my own. I took German freshman year, and then switched to Japanese, and junior year I transferred from drawing class to Home Ec. to Shop over the course of one semester.”

“You wouldn’t be the only one to use fantasy as an escape.  I used to save up for every pulp magazine I could get.  I positively devoured Doc Savage, Buffalo Bill, and Zorro.  Might be why I was so determined to get into the war.  I didn’t like being bullied, looked up to these characters that stood up for the little guy, and I felt like, by fighting, I was…I don’t know, honoring them somehow.”

“Hmmm, well you may not be into Buffy, but I’m pretty sure you’d like _Firefly_.  I’ll need an internet connection to get it off the cloud, but gorramit, we _will_ get you geek-ified.”

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Meanwhile, Cate had gone out into the bustling life of Haven.  She had never been one for confinement, and she knew her sister wanted to spend some time with Steve.  She spent some time wandering through the halls that doubled as streets, admiring just how much these outcasts had built.  After a few hours of walking, however, she needed to sit down.  Locating a small coffee shop, the agent ordered a cup from a barista that resembled a 5 foot tall bipedal fox and sat down in one of the few vacant chairs.  The place seemed quite popular, and after only a few moments, her table was approached by a woman with caramel skin and blue hair.

“Is it all right if I share your table?  I don’t want to intrude, but this place is standing room only.”

“Of course, have a seat.  I’m Catherine.” She held a hand out, which the striking young woman shook, smiling warmly.  It was hard to remember if she’d felt that tingle of attraction since her first girlfriend.

“Thanks. I’m Torque.” She smiled again, a happy, playful grin. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.  I’m sure I would have remembered.”

“It’s my first time.” Blushing, Cate scrambled to correct course.  “I’m new in Haven I mean.  Is it always this busy?”

“Not really, mostly just on Tuesdays.  That’s when Carter does the baking, and his pastry skills are phenomenal.”  She leaned her head in conspiratorially “Between us, I’m fairly sure his cinnamon rolls are to blame for my pudge.”

“What pudge?”  The agent laughed, glad to have a chance to flirt with no fear, no need to get anything from Torque other than a smile.  Not often did field agents get to have what one would call normal personal lives. Add in her preference for women, and her social calendar was pretty bare.  That this beautiful woman was flirting back was a bit of a rush.  Over the next hour, Torque and Cate got to know each other, quickly discovering the similarities of their lives, and appreciating the differences.

“So, you’re a teleporter? That is so cool.”

“Well, I’m not a very powerful one.  Unlike the ones you’d hear about on the news, I can’t teleport myself, only other things and it can get really hard to focus on big or complicated stuff.  It has to do with the way my powers work.”  Sensing Cate’s confusion, she backpedaled.  “See, there’s a whole class of ‘porters that do it by going through an alternate dimension.  Nightcrawler from the X men is one, the smoke is the giveaway.  Then there are the ‘mystic’ types, really powerful ‘porters who can make enchanted doors and shit.  I’m a ‘science’ type.  All I do is harness rotational momentum, or torque.” She grinned, and Cate grinned back.

“Well, go on…”

“Ha, ok.  Take this coffee cup, it’s sitting still to our eyes, but it’s on the Earth, which is rotating on its axis at approximately 465 miles per second, and around the sun at about 18.5 miles per second.  I can use that momentum to slingshot it to another place.  Sometimes molecules get disarranged by that, which isn’t so bad with a cup, but can be very bad with a person.  As the old saw goes; Johnny was a chemist's son, but Johnny is no more. For what Johnny thought was H2O, was H2SO4.”  Blushing, she ducked her head. “And now I’ve gone and nerd-ed out on you. Sorry.  Enough about me.  What’s your mutation?  If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Well, that’s actually a bit of a complicated question.”  Unwilling to lie to such a sweet girl, Cate fell back on incomplete answers, the same trick she used to use to protect her relationship as a teen.  “I’m actually not here for myself so much as my sister and her friend.  I don’t exactly meet the standard criteria, if you get my meaning.”

“You’re not a mutant?”  Shock dropped Torque’s jaw, but she didn’t seem to be about to run, so Cate answered her.

“Do I look like primordial ooze?  Of course I’m a mutant.  Any multi-celled organism on the planet is a mutation of something else.  I’m just not an active-X-gene mutant.  This isn’t going to be a problem is it?”

“No, it won’t.  I’m just not used to thinking of it that way.  You get greeted by enough blind hate, you start to expect it.  Anything else feels kinda odd.  Good, but odd.”

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While the displaced heroes were relaxing, another group was meeting in the depths of Haven.

“You asked me to find a weakness” said a measured voice with a slight oriental accent.  “A way to steal them from under Magneto’s nose.  I have done so.”

“How is something he already knew a weakness, Trixta? He will not betray them, no matter their genes.” The tone of the response was withering, much like the heart of the woman who spoke it.

“No one searches for the dead, Mamushi.  No one reports a death they caused.  Callisto is well known for her hatred of humans.  The penalties for betrayal here are…severe.”

“He won’t buy it.  Mags may be a cynical bastard, but he never would believe _his_ Callisto would turn on him.” The third speaker had a high, nasal whine of a voice.

“Then, Mister Tolansky, we may have to use plan B.  Contact our failsafe.  We move on them tomorrow night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can find me here: bairnsidhe.tumblr.com. I'm very friendly, and if you send me an ask I will respond within 24 hours. If you let me know you're there for SBoRFW, I'll up my posting related to the Cap fandom.


	15. Betrayals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Villains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who want to know more about Steve's diesel-like coffee, I'll post a recipe at the bottom. Also, I worry that Steve's a bit Sue-esque, mainly because he is fairly perfect in the comics, so I added a bit of bitching about Hawkeye's motormouth, and he still wants to come out perfect. Sigh.

The next day passed much like the day before.  Steve made them breakfast; eggs, bacon, toast, and most importantly to the decidedly non-morning-person Karen, a huge pot of cold brewed coffee.  He’d learned to make it that way in the War, because it was the only way to make coffee while marching, but it yielded very concentrated results.  Morita had called it “diesel fuel masquerading as coffee”.  Apparently Karen was enough of a caffeine addict that her default response to coffee delivery was to propose, so Widow and Cate were the only ones allowed to put the coffee in her hands.  Although her tolerance was legendary, after just one cup of Steve’s ‘diesel fuel’, she was aware enough to tease Natasha, the only other one of them who spoke fluent Japanese.

“Domo arigato gozaimasu, Natasha Sama.”

“You’re welcome, but you’re using the honorific incorrectly.  ‘Sama’ is reserved for royalty.”

“Watashi wa Natasha kamisama ga ittanara, mahō no inryō no engimono, watashi wa obekka tsukai to yoba rerudearou, desu ne.”  A sly smile accompanied her reply, which was met by cackling laughter from the super spy.

“What the hell was that?” Clint was grumpy enough in mornings; he didn’t need Nat having a mental breakdown too.

“Joke.  Only makes sense in Japanese, but essentially I said that I used the royal honorific because calling her a God would be flattery.”

“Actually it was calling me the ‘bringer of magical beverages’ that cracked me up.  Heh, you’re obviously awake enough now, pass me the bacon.”

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Natasha and Clint spent the early afternoon arguing over who had to stay with Karen and Steve that night, and the late afternoon playing something they called ‘drunk poker’, explaining it was derived from strip poker, shots replacing the removal of clothing.  Steve finished his advertisement commission, and delivered it.  Karen spent some time relaxing with headphones on, occasionally singing along with the music.

Cate had a date that night with Torque, which Karen and Natasha helped her get dressed for.  As a result, much of the main room was occupied with women discussing clothing, hairstyles, and make-up and the two men had retreated back into Steve’s room with microwave dinners.

“Man, I do not get it.” Clint was grumbling as he ate.  “Nat’s like the coolest customer ever, owns more weapons than the NRA and knows how to kill a guy with his own thumb, but put her in a room with other women talking about clothing and BAM she’s a total chick.”

“Well, she _is_ a woman, all the time.  Sure she’s a great fighter, but she’s also human.  You’re more than the bow; she’s more than the Taser gauntlets, pistols, martial arts, espionage and aircraft piloting.”  Steve wasn’t what you’d call smooth with women, but he was fairly fed up with listening to Clint complain about his partner’s current activity.  The archer could talk like none other, and it was starting to piss his friend off.  “You go home and fix up your car, play with your dog, or talk to your neighbors at the rooftop barbeques you keep telling me about.  Do you even know what Miss Romanova does off duty?  I don’t.”

“Dude, nobody knows what Natasha does in her spare time.  That’s like, Level Infinity access.  But, you’re right, this could be a more common thing for her than I realized.”  He shrugged, and then cocked his head.  “Do you hear something breaking?”

Rushing into the main room, they saw that something was indeed breaking.  A vulpine woman was tying Cate up, Karen was already bound and gagged, and Natasha was having a hard time fighting a slimy looking green man in silver grey armor, her reflexes slow and her coordination sloppy, as if she were drugged.  A tall, stoop-shouldered creature with dirty beige fur ran at them, knocking Clint across the room.

“Dingo!  Let me take the last one,” snapped the fox like girl.  “We have orders to bring him in with little damage.” Her hand lifted in a graceful gesture, indicating without pointing at, the soldier.

Suddenly, Steve felt odd, as though he had been frightened.  But why would he be scared? It was the safest, most natural place for him to be, nothing was wrong.  With his mind shackled to an illusion, and his hands bound with zip ties, he was lead out of the apartment and deep into Haven’s cavern system.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Magneto swept in to the room, angry at being summoned to this distant storage room by a lackey he didn’t even know.  “Callisto, what is this about?  Why did you send a messenger to fetch me all the way out here, when I would have been more than happy to see you in my quarters, or the council hall?”

“Because, I couldn’t have put a neutralizer cuff on you without your notice, and I need this to happen without you losing your head.”  As Magneto looked to see a metal cuff encircling the wrist he could have sworn was bare, Callisto pressed a button on the far wall, sending the thin partition into the floor, revealing the bound and gagged prisoners.  “I like you, Erik.  I really do.  But you crossed a very dangerous line, bringing them here.  They’re not mutants, I could have told you that before you ever went up to meet them.  You brought them down here without even asking.  Not checking them, or worse, checking and not caring, has put us all in danger.  We cannot let them leave, and I refuse to let your name in Haven be sullied by the discovery that will happen if we let them stay.  They must die.”

“My dear girl, you simply don’t understand,” Magneto tried desperately to get through to Callisto.  He knew she was bitter about humanity, it was what brought them together, but he never thought she would take it out on people under his protection.

“No, Magneto, _you_ don’t understand.  You have a place here only because of the effort you make here.  The number of mutants grows daily, yet your ‘army’ has not.  Xavier takes in students increasingly, but the X-men have had steady numbers.  Haven is _not_ a fort.  Its citizens are not a part of your schemes.  I let your ‘Brotherhood’ stay only as long as my people are safe.” She said the name of the militant group she was once a member of with brutal disdain, as though it sickened her.

Turning to point at the unmoving figures, her voice took a dark turn.  “You brought _sapiens_ here.  I’ve seen them move, and I can tell; these are soldiers and spies.  You signed their death warrants, bringing them here.  I cannot let them compromise us.”  Beckoning to the fox-faced mutant behind her, she snapped out a cruel command.  “Trixta, get Madman a drink.”

Magneto blanched as the import of the quiet, easy-to-miss dual-identity psychic in the room dawned.  While the mutant known as Madman was a relatively harmless far-seer, the dark half of his mind unlocked by strong alcohol was called Bedlam for good reason.  “This is insanity!  You know what will happen if you unleash him.”  Magneto trembled, remembering how Bedlam had once driven an entire town mad, leaving even the man who would free the Phoenix shaken.  “Bedlam cannot be controlled!”

“I’m doing this for the sake of my respect for you.  Only Bedlam can erase your shame without carrying the knowledge of it.  If the people ever knew your betrayal, you would be exiled.  You caused this.  Remember that.”

“Callisto, surely you’re not _this_ out of control.  This isn’t like you….”  He let his voice drop off as the truth revealed itself.  “Or it **is** like you, but you’re not Callisto.”

“Told ya he wouldn’t fall for it, boss.”  Toad snickered evilly.  “Him and Callisto, they’re two peas in a pissed off pod.”

“It would beg the question, though, _who are you_.” Glaring at his slimy ex-henchman, the Master of Magnetism wished yet again that he had never met Tolansky.  “Who did you sell your traitorous service to, Toad?”

“Traitorous? Pointin’ fingers seems a bit ripe, comin’ off ‘a you, ‘cause I remember you leaving me in ANT-freakin’- **ARTICA!!!** I’d ‘a signed on with anybody gave me a shot at you.”

The false Callisto laughed, “I believe Erik has earned this.  You may reveal us, Trixta.” She kept talking even as the illusionist’s power melted away, revealing dark green hair and a face familiar to any who fought Hydra.  “Such a talent.  She actually _convinces_ the aura of a person to change, thereby changing them in all observable ways…”

“You.” Magneto fell pale.  “I heard you had died in Japan, Viper.”

“Not quite, though it was close.  You don’t honestly think I’d take on the Wolverine to give Yashida a cure for death without extracting something for myself, first?  It is remarkable what a dedicated scientist can do with DNA from a mutant who survives…everything.  The trip might not have come out the way I wanted, but serpents are good at getting out of tight spots.” She put her arm around Trixta as if she were a proud parent.  “Besides, where else would I have found her?  Kitsune are very rare outside the homeland,” Following the girl’s nod at a corner, Viper looked directly at the teleporter that had snuck in “and quite good at sensing the trickery of others, Torque.”  She turned to the reality that had hidden under the illusion of Madman.  “Reaper, take them alive if possible.”

The Hydra assassin leapt forward, his arm stretching out and transforming into a scythe-blade that he swung at the would-be rescuer.  Magneto threw out his arm to intercept, the cuff on his wrist smashing under the attack.  Torque’s eddying energies swept out from her in ripples, surrounding first Cate, then Hawkeye, Widow, and Steve before reaching Karen at the end of the row.  Reaper was just recovering to snatch at the soldier when the group began to glow and shift.  The prisoners and the assassin disappeared together in a cascading rush of blinding light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve's coffee: put equal parts grounds and cold water in a container, preferably not plastic (glass or ceramic work best). Seal it and leave it be for at least 24 hrs, preferably 48-72. Filter for an intense concentrate, mix with water or milk until the strength desired, enjoy. You don't need nearly as much sugar as you'd think, so taste before seasoning.
> 
>  
> 
> As always, you can find me here: bairnsidhe.tumblr.com. I'm very friendly, and if you send me an ask I will respond within 24 hours. If you let me know you're there for SBoRFW, I'll up my posting related to the Cap fandom.


	16. Passages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teleportation is not for the faint of heart

The six people caught in the teleport field experienced dizzying movement that made no linear sense, surrounded by rapidly gyrating streaks of every color imaginable and quite a few that hurt a merely human mind to look at. In the midst of this turbulence, snatches of times both past, present, and future flitted by.

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Karen stood on a crowded street, all of its occupants tattered and forlorn.  A few wore sandwich boards advertising their willingness to work, but most seemed to have no hope left.  If she had put every desperate, weary, down on their luck or homeless person she had ever met in her life in one place, it still wouldn’t be half as many as stood, sat or walked in this street.  It could have been a post-apocalyptic scene, but the stack of newspapers being sold by a young boy told her otherwise, the date written on the front page was October, 17, 1931.  The feeble looking child was calling out the day’s special edition, the conviction of Al Capone.  A scuffle broke out nearby, a larger boy attacking a smaller one.  The thin newsboy left his post at a run, tackling the antagonist.  As the heroic child was dashed to the ground, she saw his face, and recognized him.

“Steve!” She called out, but neither boy responded.  Young-Steve cried out for help, only to be ignored.  Karen knew that pain, feeling like no one would lift a finger for you.  It pissed her off, and she grabbed at an upraised fist, but her hands passed through it, resulting in an involuntary shudder.  The unnerved attacker stood, kicking Steve in the ribs a few times before running off.  Kneeling by the oblivious, trembling child who would one day be known as a great hero, she did the only thing her ghostly state allowed, speaking to him. “Steve, I know it hurts, but hold on.  I’ve never seen you give up, so you can’t now.  You live to keep saving people, speaking up when you know it’ll get you hurt.  When it hurts, when you want to run away, remember; if you stand up, push back, they can’t say no forever.  Just keep ahold of that.”

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Natasha blinked rapidly twice to clear her vision from the searing after image of the transport radius.  Instantly alert, she scanned for threats automatically.  Seeing nothing but bare stone walls, rough-hewn out of some type of cave system, she relaxed as much as she ever allowed herself to without back-up.  The tunnel was equally dim and gloomy in either direction, but one way had a faint echo emerging from deeper in.  Following the sound cautiously, she found herself standing in the doorway of some kind of lab.  The equipment was state-of-the-art enough to make Tony Stark weep with envy, but what caught and held her attention were the people inside.  It appeared to be a Zola lab, complete with blenders of Doughboy goop, but the robots hauling large machines around at the direction of the small man Fury once described as “putting the  _mad_  back into mad science”, those were not Zola’s.  They were Doombots.  *So, he’s in Latveria. This could be useful.*

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Clint swayed on his feet as he recovered from the dizzying effect.  He was in an alley, and it was raining.  At the end of the alley, stood a familiar figure, a beautiful redheaded superspy.  She turned toward him and smiled a happy smile he hadn’t seen in over a decade.

“Tasha! Boy am I glad to see you.  Was I the only one who had a brown acid moment, or…” Clint trailed off as his partner ran to him with open arms, only to pass right through him into the waiting arms of a tall, muscular man with an artificial left arm.  Staring in horror, he realized that he was seeing the past.  He’d heard the story.  This man had been Natasha’s lover long before Clint.  A fellow KGB operative.  *What was his name…They called him the Tin Soldier, or something like that.* When he disappeared off the face of the earth, something had broken in her, something that eventually healed into the stronger, more confident and cynical Black Widow he knew.  While he loved his partner, perhaps a bit more than he’d ever let her see, this younger, fresher more innocent version of Natasha Romanova was a part of her past he’d never have seen if it weren’t for that teleporter.  *I’m going to have to remember to thank her.*

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Cate found herself walking down a long gallery.  On the walls were images of possible futures, some grand, some horrifying.  She watched an island rise from the sea to become a hub of freedom and learning.  She watched that same island burn.  She saw heroes fight heroes, and villains rise to great heights.  She watched as a whole apocalyptic war was averted by a young couple in love who knew that doing so would erase their marriage.  She saw an idealistic scientist break the known laws of physics and an exiled African prince reclaim his throne.  She saw a hacker bent over a computer try to bring down S.H.I.E.L.D.  She saw that young woman recruited to a S.H.I.E.L.D. team, and couldn’t believe her eyes at the recruiter.  *I suppose that’s one timeline that died before it was born.*

A sob forming over her diaphragm fought to break free, but the swirling lights enveloped her, squeezing too tight for her cry to escape.  As the light faded and she found herself in the quarters she had shared with the others before they were kidnapped.  Torque sat in an armchair by the sofa she was using as a bed, asleep.  On hastily constructed cots across from her lay two figures, one of which was clearly Natasha.  Sitting up carefully, she became aware of her sore body.  Hearing his patient’s groan, a bulky blue furred man approached her and began to ask diagnostic questions.  Putting aside her curiosity as to why a former Secretary of Mutant Affairs was in the camp of a known criminal, she searched for her sister out of old habit and for Cap, out of well-informed fear.  When she saw that neither Karen nor Cap was in the room, she gripped the diplomatic doctor by his fur.  With the raging fury of a bodyguard who’s had their ‘body’ stolen, she growled the first thing that came to mind.

“What. The. FUCK. Happened?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's another scene from this chapter that has warning codes, so I split it off from this one. I'm putting a warning here so that people know before they move on to the next chapter. The next chapter has different warnings from the others, and is partly optional. It can be skipped if you have an aversion to anti-gay bigotry, rape, or character death. It just fills out Cate’s back story, explaining her cold and brittle aspects. To make skipping it easier for squeamish readers, I put it in a different chapter, despite happening concurrent with the events in Passages.
> 
> To reiterate, Passages extra scene has some very bad shit. You can skip it.
> 
>  
> 
> As always, you can find me here: bairnsidhe.tumblr.com. I'm very friendly, and if you send me an ask I will respond within 24 hours. If you let me know you're there for SBoRFW, I'll up my posting related to the Cap fandom.


	17. Passages extra scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened to Steve during Passages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so you need to know, this chapter has different warnings from the others, and is partly optional. This chapter can be skipped if you have an aversion to anti-gay bigotry, rape, or character death. It just fills out Cate’s back story, explaining her cold and brittle aspects. To make skipping it easier for squeamish readers, I put it in a different chapter, despite happening concurrent with the events in Passages.
> 
> (Yes, this note is somewhat redundant. I personally hate reading a fic and then suddenly "WTF, why would you do that, we hates it forever", so I'm trying as hard as possible to prevent that here. Sorry.)

Steve found himself in front of a football field.  The scoreboard advertised the Hornets, presumably a local team.  Walking over to the bleachers, he saw movement behind them.  About to turn away, because even he knew what was likely being done, he stopped as he heard a cry for help. Rounding the corner, ducking under the seats, he saw two large boys cornering a girl.

“Goddamn lesbo.  Think you can just spit on what’s right and good, don’t cha,  _Margaret_?  You and your slut girlfriend tryin’ to make fools out of us?  God hates you fucks, but we’re gonna do ya a favor, Meg, get you back on the right track.”  The boy who was spouting the obscenities was reaching for his fly as his friend grappled the girl, pulling her pants down.

“Hey! Back off!”  Steve yelled, but was unheard.  He tried to grab the boys, but his hands passed through them.  They shook as though they felt a chill, but no more.  Unable to do anything, he screamed in rage and frustration.  As he fell to his knees, not wanting to abandon the girl he couldn’t help, he heard a voice behind him.

“Take your filthy hands off her this instant.”  Turning Steve saw another girl, her face cold with fury, pointing a gun at the boy who had attempted to rape the first girl.  Slim where the other was muscular, her light brown hair cropped, she could have passed as a boy if not for her tight tee shirt.  She seemed vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place her. “This gun is loaded, and I will shoot you.  Don’t think you have a human shield.  I won the last two State Fair marksmanship competitions, if you’ll recall, and just last weekend tagged Brad here in paintball.  That’d be why he’s the one pinning her, because paintballs and man-bits-balls don’t mix.”  The two boys stopped trying to maneuver their crying prisoner as a buffer, instead pushing her at the steel-voiced girl Steve now believed to be the previously mentioned girlfriend.  Caught off guard, moving to catch the falling Meg, she dropped her gun hand.  The boy still wearing pants, Brad, charged the two of them. The rescuer brought her arm up around her sweetheart, and the gun disappeared between bodies for a moment.  When the three disengaged, Brad had the gun and a bloom of red was staining Meg’s blond hair.  The strangely familiar girl emitted a strangled scream, her already dark eyes going hard. 

Steve knew he had seen those eyes before, in fact, now that they looked the same, he knew this was Agent Cate McCann, and she was about to kill the murderer of her beloved. He moved between them, using his body’s chilling manifestation to block her attack, speaking quickly.  “No. This isn’t you.  You’re a good agent, a keeper of peace, an enforcer of the law.  You can’t throw your life away with a murder, no matter how just.  Think what would happen to Karen if you go to jail.  I know you’d do anything to keep her safe and happy.”  A flicker of emotion showed in the dead eyes of his future protector.  She pulled a cell phone out of her pocket one-handed, and Steve felt the urge to pat her on the back, although it would just dispirit his friend.  “Good. You’re going to make a fine S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for this. Send me an ask on tumblr if you need a kitten or a puppy or a hug.
> 
> As always, you can find me here: bairnsidhe.tumblr.com. I'm very friendly, and if you send me an ask I will respond within 24 hours. If you let me know you're there for SBoRFW, I'll up my posting related to the Cap fandom.


	18. Confusion and Clarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Karen wake up on the other side of the world. Cate is not happy about it.

The furry mutant grit his teeth against the pain of having his chest fur yanked like a jacket lapel.  A negative reaction was expected, but still, there were such things as manners.  “Eh, well, if you’d be so kind as to release me, I can give you a few hypotheses.”  Once free from the grasp of the angry agent, he pulled out a small pad of notepaper and a pen to draw a diagram.  “Miss Torque has aptly named herself, as her power is rotational.  As the axis of rotation, she has greater control over the end of radius nearest her.  She tried to send all of you here, but the addition of Reaper compromised her control of the far end.”  Shooting an awkward glance at the waking teleporter, he trailed off, letting Torque take the more embarrassing half of the conversation.

“So where did you send them? Where is my sister?”

“Ah, well, Cate, that’s a good question.” The now awake teleporter blushed a deep crimson. “See, I don’t, ah, actually know.  We narrowed it down a bit, though.  The quantum physics aren’t my strong suit, but Dr. McCoy had the math worked out by some genius with a super computer he knows.”  She looked gratefully up at him.

“What do super computers exist for, if not this sort of thing?  It’s not a problem at all. I just wish we had a trustworthy telepath to run a Cerebro scan…” A soft, sad look crossed the feline face. “The X-Men have been understaffed in that department, and we don’t know who else here might be spies.”

“How do I know _you’re_ not a spy?  Latest briefings have you as an opponent to Magneto.  You could be here to send me to the opposite end of the Earth from Steve and Karen.”

“Hank and I may be old enemies, but before that we were friends.” Magneto entered the room, obviously in pain, but still as steely eyed as ever.  “Many from both sides were at one point comrades in arms, all working together with Charles.  I hate to admit it, but when something like this happens, when I might have made a grave mistake, I will ask for help.  I trust Beast with Haven’s secrets, and he has access to the tools and skills we need now.”

“Speaking of which, are you sure about Logan?  He’s not a huge fan of yours.  I can call him in, but the only reason you didn’t die on Alcatraz is that you appeared to be depowered.”

“He doesn’t even have to see me.  But he needs to know that Viper is on the loose, and he was once a good friend of the man that needs rescue.”  Guilt saturated his face and voice.  “Together, they saved my life once, which is why he was hiding here in the first place.”

“His memory is still poor, but I’ll let him know.”

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Far away, Steve was waking.  His whole body hurt.  Not quite as bad as it had in the hospital, but still very much.  Pushing himself upright, he saw that he was in a forest, surrounded by pine trees.  The air was thin, something he could identify easier with his asthma.  That high elevation, combined with the terrain added up to mountains.  Scanning for landmarks, he saw the still figure of an unconscious woman in the distance.  Recognizing Karen’s favorite bright yellow pajamas, he began running towards her. *Please, don’t be dead.  Please, God, just, just don’t let her be dead.*

His silent plea was granted, as he reached her, she twitched a bit, bolting upright with a gasp of “Steve!”  As he replied, she turned around and caught him in another crushing bear hug.  It was a bit of a problem, that she seemed unable to control the tightness of her embraces, but he wasn’t complaining.  “Oh my god. Steve, I just, I knew you couldn’t have _died_ or anything, because of the grandfather paradox and all, but still…”

“So you saw my past, huh?  When’d you wind up?” Grinning ruefully he tried to recall when she might have seen that she thought he might die, but the number was fairly high.  He did serve in a war after all.

“October 17, 1931.”  Seeing his shock, but misinterpreting it as amazement over her specificity, she hastily continued.  “You were selling newspapers.  The date was on the front page.  And that horrible boy, I think he might have killed you, but apparently when ethereal energy-based life-forms grab rotten little trolls, the trolls freak out and run.”

“I think I might remember that day, but only because I wasn’t even supposed to be on that corner.  I only got called because there was an extra edition.” Studying the girl he was quickly growing to care deeply for, he saw a glimpse of an emotion stronger than friendship in her eyes.  He wouldn’t jump to conclusions like Tony, but for the first time he understood what the inventor had seen several weeks ago.  “If I remember him correctly, you’d be right about Hutch trying to kill me; it looks like I owe you my life.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to return the favor.” Karen always got awkward and shy around guys she liked, especially when she was alone with them.  Fumbling for a safe topic of conversation, she looked around her.  “So, do you know where we are?”

“Hmm. It could be any mountainous region in the northern hemisphere.  I want to say Europe, but that could be a matter of familiarity.  It could just as easily be the Rockies.  Wherever we are, it’s far enough away from Haven to make getting back more difficult than I like.”   When she stood this close, he had to look down, if ever so slightly, to see her face.  Positioned like this, the urge to lean forward to kiss her was strong.  Pulling his desire back under control, he directed his thoughts somewhere less dangerous. “We should probably make a camp; it’ll be getting dark soon, and the night’ll only get colder.”

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

They worked together dragging pine branches to the base of the tallest tree in the immediate area, forming a lean-to effect. It became clear that shelter was all they could accomplish that night.  None of the groundcover plants looked like any edible plant either of them had seen; without even snare lines, hunting was off the table, even if Karen could have brought herself to kill something.  Unable to find a river or snow, they had no water either, not that they had a canteen to carry it.  The lack of basic comforts was taking its toll on Karen’s outlook, making her snappish and withdrawn.  She knew logically that her behavior wasn’t helping any, but she didn’t even like camping when there were tents and s’mores involved.  Add this to the fact that Steve was apparently Mr. Wilderness-Survival, and her mood tanked.

“I still don’t see why we can’t have a fire.  A nice warm campfire, that’s all I ask.  Is that too much?”

“Yes, actually.” As charming as she could be, Karen was also really capable of getting on his nerves.  “We’re in the middle of a forest, where a single stray spark could turn into a fiery inferno.  Without water, a fire is too dangerous.”

“Well, aren’t wild animals dangerous?  A fire would keep them away.  Can we afford _not_ to have a campfire?”

“Whether or not animals will avoid fire depends on their experience.  In common locations for campsites they learn to associate fire with easy food.  But it’s a bit of a moot point at any rate, because we don’t have any way to _make_ a fire.”

“What about the two stick thing? It works in movies and on TV.”

“Yeah, but _only_ in fiction.  In real life, I’ve never met anyone who could make that work.  Why is a campfire such a big deal to you?  In all the time I’ve known you, I don’t remember you ever arguing as much as you are now.”

“I just hate this, is all.  We’re in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere, with only the clothes on our backs, no food, no water, and I’m **cold** dammit!  I just want one damn thing to go right.” Sighing, she rubbed a hand across her face, trying to snap out of her funk.  “I’m sorry about yelling, I just don’t like being cold or sleeping outdoors.  Too many bad memories from being an invisible.”

“I get it.  Really, I do.  The first Fourth of July I had out of the ice, I flipped out during the fireworks.  Fury had to pry me out from behind a coffee table I flipped on its side. Even now, I know I need to put earplugs in on the Fourth, which really stinks, since that’s also my birthday.  I wish I could change things, but we’re stuck outside for tonight.”  He’d been working around the most common sense solution for the cold, because he wasn’t sure he’d survive a night with Karen in his arms, but seeing her so unhappy strengthened his resolve.  “If you want, we can share body heat, though.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Later that night, they lay together in the cave-like space under the branches.  Despite the chill in the air, Steve felt warmer than he’d ever been.  Karen was asleep, nestled up against his side, her head on his chest.  Her deep, even breaths were so at odds from the tense, irritable woman he’d fought with earlier.  She looked so peaceful, and the only thing he could think of that had changed since the argument was their current position.  He wasn’t going to presume her relaxation was all due to him, but he had to have something to do with it, and that delighted him.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can find me here: bairnsidhe.tumblr.com. I'm very friendly, and if you send me an ask I will respond within 24 hours. If you let me know you're there for SBoRFW, I'll up my posting related to the Cap fandom.


	19. Reflection and Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next steps are taken, by all parties.

Half a world away, the members of their protection detail was planning a way to find and recover the vulnerable pair.  Hank’s connections had come back with the rough estimate of where to start looking.

“So, we have to search a hundred square miles of rough terrain on a highly contested bit of the Russo-Latverian border?  Peachy.” Hawkeye groused. “Provided, of course, that we get air clearance to land.  Which seems a bit unlikely given how Russia feels about Nat, and Doom is a nutcase.  Do you have any Gordian knots I can work on, too?”

“It’s not _that_ bad.” The former KGB operative sighed at her partner’s theatrical nature.  “The intelligence community in Russia might not care for me, but the only show of force on that side is army, just ordinary soldiers.  It won’t be an issue.”

Clint gritted his teeth at the mention of soldiers, still a bit touchy after the rather intense kiss he had been forced to witness.  Although they had all confirmed that each of them had a vision while mid-teleport, he had carefully omitted any details.  It was bad enough to feel he had to compete with a ghost, but he didn’t want anyone else to see his emotional Achilles heel.  As though his thoughts had been heard, the next bit of the plan hinged on their visions.

“The circumstances surrounding the compromised trip indicate that there are likely tachyon particles at the emergence point.  They would be traceable, with the right gear.” The dissonance between the intellectual speech and the bestial form of their newest ally was still a bit of a shock.  “Between that, and the call I placed to Logan, you shouldn’t have trouble tracking them.”

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

As Karen began to wake, she realized she wasn’t just cuddled up next to Steve, as she had been while they fell asleep.  Instead, she had managed to roll halfway on top of him, using his slight form as a mattress.  Realizing her weight was likely crushing him, she quickly scooted off of him, causing him to wake suddenly.  Unlike the last time she’d suddenly woken him, their first meeting, he didn’t attack her.  Rather, he seemed to need to stretch, as his knees came up stiffly.  “Sorry about squishing you.  I imagine it wasn’t as comfy for you as it was for me.”

“No worries.  I just hope you weren’t too cold last night.”  Cautiously crawling out of their shelter, he was embarrassingly aware of his arousal.  *I hope she didn’t feel that.  That would be awkward.* Shifting his weight from foot to foot he tried to avoid focusing on that painful possibility. 

“So, what’s the plan?”  Her question snapped him out of his nervous fidget, giving him something concrete to focus on, something he could actually _do_.

“We won’t last long if we stay here, not without food and water.  I say we pick a direction and walk that way until we find something.”  He knew that she wasn’t at her best in this environment, so he prepared to fend off unpleasantness.  “If we mark our trail, we shouldn’t wind up going in circles, but we might find civilization.  Or at least water.”

“Water does sound heavenly right now.  Maybe we should go downhill, to increase our chances.”

“Great plan, but I thought you weren’t a wilderness girl?”

“I’m not, but I _am_ a geek who paid attention in school.” She rolled her eyes and spoke with exaggerated slowness.  “Water runs downhill, plants and animals need water, people need plants and animals, _ergo_ if we go downhill, our chances improve of finding water, food, or people.”

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Luck was with them; before the sun grew too hot, they found a clear mountain stream.  Clean water had a rejuvenating effect, both on Karen’s mood and on Steve’s exhausted body.  Although the hike had been more of a stroll, he was shaky and gasping for air.  Not wanting to be dead weight, he had kept quiet, but he was greatly relieved that his companion was determined to sit for a while.

Of course, that was partly why Karen wanted to rest.  She knew enough about a man’s ego not to mention it, but she had seen how hard he struggled over the rough ground.  Insisting that the rest break was for her saved him from having to admit he needed it too.  It also gave them a chance to talk, which she’d wanted to do since the night before.

“So, if I was busy seeing your past, what were you seeing?  When we traveled, I mean.”

Grimacing at the memory, he rubbed a hand over his face.  He hated the idea of being in a position where he’d have to choose between honoring one sister’s personal tragedy, and honesty with the other.  “It was your sister’s past, but I’m not sure I should talk about it without her permission.” 

“Lemme guess, the day Mega got shot.” Her face dark with old anger, she looked almost feral.  “Ray and Brad never got what they deserved for that.  But the fingerprints were compromised and they tried to pin it on Catie.”

“Mega? I thought her name was Margret….”

“It was, technically.  I was the one who called her Mega.  She was born Margret Constance O’Rourke, and she was my sister’s first love.  Both of us loved her, really.  I was younger, saw her as a role model, whereas Cate….  You know.  I was in the habit of nicknaming the people I cared about then.  We’d used street names long enough to protect ourselves, it was born out of wanting to protect loved ones.”

Not knowing what to do about the suddenly emotional dame beside him, Steve floundered a bit.  Petting on the shoulder, he’d seen that done in a movie, hadn’t he?  But that girl had just cried harder, so that wouldn’t do.  “I understand about wanting to protect people.  And about how it feels when you can’t.  I lost my best friend, after he followed me into battle.  It nearly broke me, him, falling off that train.  But you respect their memory by honoring their choices.  He chose to follow where I led; Mega chose to love you and your sister.”

“You are just too sappy sometimes.  I think I’m going to wade the next bit downstream.  You coming with?” Kicking off her clogs, she rolled up her pajama bottoms.  Standing in the river with her shoes in hand, her face lit by warm sunlight, her hair falling about her face, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Sure.”

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Meanwhile, deep in a cave, a master villain was dressing down his operatives for their failure to capture Steve Rogers.

“Fools!  I send you to do this one thing; bring me one, weak, vulnerable man, and what happens? You let him slip through your fingers.”  A wracking cough broke the tirade, Zemo’s lungs fighting for the air that his own viral creation denied him.  Although he still would have wanted to destroy Captain America for his role in Hydra’s defeat, the ravages of Virus X lent a rather more personal element.  Zola promised him that the Captain’s blood held the key to reversing his condition.

“Do not blame _me_ , Zemo.  It was _your_ Reaper that failed to retrieve him.”  The cold voice of Madame Viper cut through the wheezing.  “Me and mine, we **did** our job, getting him in.  Had you let me take a sample, instead of the messiness of kidnapping, we would all be done with this unpleasant… association.”

“Yes, and you managed to ‘lose’ the Reaper, didn’t you?” The hissing whisper was filled with menace.  “Very convenient, not having to prove any claims you might make.  Find him, or I’ll let Arnim do what he wishes with the girl. Your kitsune.  She fascinates him.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me, Frau Viper.  Just try me.”

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Downstream, Steve and Karen found a small lake.  The water was warmer than one would expect, possibly due to the bright midday sun shining on the water.  Unlike the stream bed formed of flat slabs and pockets of gravel they’d had to carefully avoid, the lake bed was soft sand and silt.  The idyllic scene left Steve speechless, and Karen eager to take a dip in what appeared to be a perfect swimming hole.  Steve soon found yet another thing to be flabbergasted over, as Karen began stripping.

“What are you _doing_?!?”

“I’m getting ready to go swimming, duh.”  Pantsless already, her top unbuttoned and sliding off one shoulder, Steve was sure she could easily have been a pin-up girl.  Standing in almost-dishabille, her teasing tone rendered something out of a fantasy.  “I need to rinse all this sweat off, but wet clothes are uncomfortable.  What’s the big deal?”

“You, you were,” His voice cracking like a teenager’s, Steve fought both the discomfiture of seeing the thick strap of her brassiere, and the growing desire to help her undress. “You were stripping, right in front of me.  Like I were a tree or a pet or something.  I’m only human, and you undressing like that, I’m not real sure of my control.”

“You’ve got to be joking.” Incredulity tinged with bitterness filled her voice.  “I’m not the kind of girl that causes guys to lose control of _anything_ , except maybe temper.  I never have been that girl.”

He could tell she was truly convinced of that entirely erroneous statement, so with great effort to strangle the little part of him that wanted to just kiss her, and crush her in his arms the way she did to him, he managed to choke out “Why on Earth would you think _that_?”

Shrugging her shoulders, she slid her slightly oversized pajama top off, and hopping straight into the mountain lake.  If she had to hear another boring, platitude filled speech about beauty-on-the-inside, she was damn well going to be clean while he preached.  Swimming to a boulder three yards or so from mouth of the stream, she propped her crossed arms on the natural ledge, and patted the rock.  “Well, grab a seat.  I’m curious how you’re going to rationalize that teasing.”

Sitting down on the rock a safe distance from her, Steve tried to figure out the best way to explain something he saw as obvious.  “I don’t know _how_ you managed to make it through your life not seeing how beautiful you are, but that changes today.  I’m not sure how I’ll convince you, I don’t even know where to start, but it’s just plain _wrong_ to let such a gorgeous girl think she isn’t.  I don’t even know where you’re getting the _idea_ that you’re not attractive.” 

*Ha, this oughta be good.  I don’t think I’ve ever heard this one* Her inner schoolgirl, the one with the crush on Steve, was wishing that he really did see her as sexy, but the years of cynicism told her not to get her hopes up.  “For starters, I’m never going to look like the models, and I gave up on anything other than a not-unhealthy-BMI years ago.  I can’t even buy jeans in most brands, because my butt is too big.”

With hindsight, Steve could understand why she felt the way she did, what with this crazy, messed up obsession the media had with boney women.  Still…“That’s actually something I like.” He realized that if she’d seen his past, he had a persuasive argument.  “When you were in my past, you saw women that were out on the street, and they were thin, right?  Did any of them look attractive?  Or even healthy?”  Seeing the light dawn in her eyes, he quickly kept talking, so she couldn’t argue back.  It may not have been very fair of him, but he didn’t really care at this point.  “I haven’t really talked with any guys about women lately, but every single one of my men in the war said that curves were topping the list of attractive features; right after a functional mind.  I adore the fact that we can actually talk, even if I do trip over all my words and make a fool of myself because I think I may love you.”  He came to a stop with a jolt, realizing what he’d just said.  Eyes wide with barely restrained fear, he looked to see her reaction.

“I might, um…” her voice soft, she hesitantly slid over closer to him.  “I think I may feel the same way.  About you.”  Seeing that he was about to protest, she decided to keep him quiet with a kiss, pulling her torso up out of the water and reaching out an arm to pull him close.  Unfortunately, that put her off balance, which resulted in them both falling into the lake. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I did it again. I want to rewrite this whole conversation to avoid Steve saying he might lose control. And then that not freaking Karen out. In my defence, when I wrote this, the news wasn't playing loops of Santa Barbara. God I hate myself right now. How do I even call myself a feminist when I do this shit?
> 
> As always, you can find me here: bairnsidhe.tumblr.com. I'm very friendly, and if you send me an ask I will respond within 24 hours. If you let me know you're there for SBoRFW, I'll up my posting related to the Cap fandom.


	20. Entanglement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sexy times.

Steve felt that somehow the world had tilted off its axis, and reality had come loose at the corners.  From the moment he inadvertently revealed his feelings, everything was just plain confusing.  He’d spent most of his life convinced that no dame would want to have anything to do with him.  The only two kisses he’d received were when he was Captain America, not Rogers the Runt, as the childhood bullies called him.  So to see Karen, her cheeks pink, biting the corner of her lower lip in that cute way she had, telling him she felt the same….  It was as if gravity suddenly worked sideways; which was only accentuated by falling in the lake when she kissed him.  Fortunately, the water wasn’t that deep, and they both righted themselves quickly.  Still, it left him confused, and Karen flustered.

“Oh, God, I am so sorry.  I didn’t mean to pull you in.”

“Honestly, I don’t mind; that kiss was worth it.” He gently brushed the strands of wet hair off her face; glad that he could touch her now they had confessed their feelings.  “Although, I must say, I never thought I’d ever get kissed by a mermaid.”

“Mermaid?” Karen tilted her head in confusion.  “I know I haven’t exfoliated in a while, but I don’t have _scales_.  Or flukes.”

Laughing Steve explained, “No, I meant the old legends about mermaids tempting sailors with their beauty, and then pulling them into the ocean.” 

He smiled at her, causing her to flush with desire and just a little bit of nerves.  Although men had wanted to sleep with her in the past, it was usually just a quick relief type thing, and so she’d gotten used to pushing men away.  But Steve, he was different, and Karen wasn’t used to this kind of attention.  This was going to turn into a relationship if they continued, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.  All her rules went out the window when he gave her that look, full of desire and love.  She wanted to give him that same look, but wasn’t sure how to.  Ms. Kirby had warned her that keeping herself from getting attached would mean giving up on emotional growth, and only now did she wish she’d listened.  Still, the desire pooling in her belly, an almost stage-fright like feeling, needed a way out.  Swimming over right next to him, she softly kissed him again, only to be pulled into an embrace fiercer than she had expected.

Steve knew he was taking advantage of the new closeness between them, that he should stop before he really _did_ lose control.  He didn’t want to let go of her though, and he felt selfish over it for a brief moment before she kissed him back with equal hunger.  Her kiss was different than he had expected, but his experience consisted of a rather predatory kiss from Pvt. Lorraine, and his one kiss from Peggy that felt like a goodbye even then.  He’d never had a dame kiss him with such intimacy.  After only a handful of seconds of this new sensation, she surprised him once again, flicking her tongue out to brush his lips, gently questing until he opened his mouth.  As their tongues danced, he felt his arousal give rise to an erection.  She had to feel it too, their bodies were so close.  Instead of a negative reaction to the stiff member poking her lower abdomen, she made a happy sounding hum and wrapped her legs around his waist, the water adding the needed buoyancy to allow him to support their combined weight.

Although they were still somewhat clothed, him more than her, Karen could feel the hardness rubbing against her clit.  The sensation both aroused her, and reminded her that they had no condoms and it had been over twenty four hours since she last took the pill.  She knew that she, at least, needed release, and the rather eager cock trying futilely to breach the pants confining it told her he did too.  Breaking off the kiss, she smiled at him, and suggested they move to a flat rock on the far side of the lake that was in full sun.

Once on the sunbaked rock, Steve hesitantly removed his shirt and pants, because she’d been right earlier; wet clothes were uncomfortable to wear.  Karen didn’t mind him taking off the soggy outer garments, even helping him to spread them out on the sunniest part of the rock.  Her help, however, tended to put her near-naked body in close proximity to his, bringing his erection to an almost painful level.  His attempts to shield the increasingly hard organ from her sight failed miserably, as she took the next kiss as opportunity to slide her fingers through his sparse chest hair and down his abdomen.  Pausing briefly at the waistband of his boxers, as if waiting for some signal, she slid her hand under that last little bit of concealment.  He let out a groan of pleasure.  Unsure what he could do for her, but unwilling to be selfish with this feeling, he slid a hand up her side to cup the full, heavy breast there.  As her fingers explored him, his were on a similar mission.  When he inadvertently scraped the tight nub at the peak, she let out a gasp.

“Oh!’ He stilled his hand, face warming in embarrassment. “Um, did I hurt you? I’m sorry; I’m really new at this.”

“No, that was a _good_ sound.” Although very interested in continuing their make-out, she suddenly realized that if he _were_ inexperienced, as he said, he might need some pointers to keep from feeling scared he’d hurt her.  “Here, let me show you…” She pulled off her bra, revealing the stiffly erect nipples he’d found earlier.  Grabbing his hand, she guided it to her chest.  “You can play with them, they’re pretty sturdy.  Just don’t pull hard.”  As his clumsy but earnest attempts began to find the sweet spot more frequently, guided by her moans and gasps, she returned to stroking him.

 Playing with her breasts yielded a range of soft, breathy sounds, which hardened him just as much as her petite hands.  On a whim, he dipped his head down to capture a nipple in his mouth.  This generated a louder, more exuberant moan, one which echoed through the trees.  As he skimmed his tongue around the bud, her body began to shake, and he saw out of the corner of his eye that her hand had delved between her legs.  Shifting to the other breast, he ran his hand down her torso in imitation of her earlier movement.  When her hand encountered his, she guided him to the right spot at the juncture of her legs, another tight bead of flesh.  Her hand moving his through the motions she liked best was a tricky business, especially with the slippery wetness gathered there.  In an accidental slip, his first two fingers slid into her hot, wet sex. 

Her eyes flew open with a startled gasp, and she rocked her hips on to his fingers, beyond the ability to use words to encourage him.  So worked up from earlier, it didn’t take long for the gentle pressure to bring her to climax.  Only when the roiling waves of sensation faded did she realize that she’d just cum without him, which in light of his urgent-seeming erection, was bordering on cruel.  *We’ll have to fix that.  Hmm… He’s a nice size, not too big, not too small…. I wonder if he likes oral?* While normally her jaw was tense enough to make blowjobs hard, after such an intense orgasm her muscles were all as relaxed as they could be. Moving languorously, she shifted to take him in her mouth. 

His hands automatically moved to entwine with her hair when she started to suck on his cock, and now that his release was eminent, he had to fight the urge to close them into fists.  He may have no practical knowledge of carnality, but he was pretty certain ripping her hair out wasn’t a good thing.  He barely managed to get his hands clear of the tangles when she brought her hand up to cup his balls in a light squeeze, causing him to cum with explosive force.

After rinsing her mouth out with the lake water, she joined him up on the rock again, cuddling up to him.  Sighing with contentment, she let herself slip into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can find me here: bairnsidhe.tumblr.com. I'm very friendly, and if you send me an ask I will respond within 24 hours. If you let me know you're there for SBoRFW, I'll up my posting related to the Cap fandom. If you want more smut, I will write you smut. (My other project right now is without smut entirely, so I feel the need to fill that gap.)


	21. Impasses and Inquiries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex is nice and all, but surviving is good too. The rescue team checks in with the locals.

The couple woke from their afternoon nap refreshed, now that their needs weren’t quite as pent up.  They still would have made love again, but the sun had moved since they first found the lake, and the leading edge of shade was encroaching on their improvised bed.  They dressed quickly, not wanting to get caught naked in the dark woods, before scouting the area.  It turned out the lake was an ideal place to camp, with fresh water and a blackberry patch just a bit off from the sunny rock they had spent the afternoon on.  It didn’t take them long finding another pine tree to modify into a sturdier lean-to than their first, meant to last a few days, not just a night.  Karen wound up doing a lot of the construction, sparing Steve the exertion, which his aching lungs appreciated, even if his chivalry didn’t.  He hated the idea that she had to pick up his slack, but when he tried to help, he got an unusual response from someone who had said outright that she hated camping.

“No way, José.  You can offer design advice, but you are _not_ carrying these.” She gestured to the heavy deadfall branches he’d tried to lift.  “I know this is a point of pride thing, the whole mentality of ‘caveman lift heavy object, caveman strong’,” Steve found her imitation of a cave man was as hilarious as it was infuriating.  “but right now, right here, I’m the one better suited to do the physical labor, and you’re the one who huffed and puffed all through making our first camp.”

Objecting, he tried to get around her to pick up a branch.  “I can’t just let you do all the work.  A man should look out for his girl, not turn her into grunt labor.”

“‘Let me?’ ‘Let me!’ Oh. My. God.  I can’t believe it; that is so chauvinistic….  I sometimes forget you grew up pre-sexual revolution, but then you go and say something like _that_.”  Indignantly crossing her arms, the look on her face promised trouble if he didn’t shut up and listen.  “You get this one freebie lesson, because you spent 70 years in arctic ice, but learn it now, or you will regret the day they thawed you out, Rip Van Winkle.  Women fought and died to have the vote, we spent the sixties fighting and dying to own our own bodies, the seventies to have equal rights in the eyes of the law.  We have careers, from female machinists, to brain surgeons, to politicians.  The days of ‘barefoot and pregnant’ are _over_.”  Realizing that her rant was a tiny bit overkill, she tried to soften the overall impact.  “I appreciate you not wanting to _make_ me do hard labor, but when I say I _want_ to do the heavy stuff, saying I _can’t_ is insulting at best.  And in all honesty, the physical activity is probably the best thing for me, right now.  The more endorphins I can rack up, the better I’ll be when it gets truly dark.”

“Ok, I get it.  Telling you that you can’t do something is like saying you have to do something.  I’d say I’m just a bit old-fashioned, but you already knew that, and it isn’t a good excuse any way.”  Looking sheepish, he tried to mend the damage he inadvertently did to this new thing blooming between them.  “I guess I’ll just head over to that berry patch and get us some dinner.”

“That’d be great.  Bring back any thorny branches you think the plant can spare, I don’t want a raccoon or something crawling in with us, and maybe nature’s barbed wire will discourage them.”

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At a small airport in southwestern Russia, a group of super heroes disembarked.  Using Natasha’s contacts and general knowledge of the area and Tony’s pull with just about every military in the world, they had managed to get landing clearance at an airport just a few hours’ drive from the stretch of heavily forested terrain they would need to search.  They had toyed with the idea of waiting for Wolverine to fly to New England and join them, but as he was currently in Madripor, it was quicker for them to fly separately.  Dr. McCoy volunteered to stay with their plane to co-ordinate their eventual meeting.  Dealing with the hot-headed and animalistic mutant was a job best served by someone he knew, everyone agreed.

The research jointly done by Dr. McCoy’s team and Bruce had pointed them to an area that had been a popular camping, hunting, and fishing location, before having an insane dictator for a neighbor took its toll.  A few brave souls still tried to camp here, die-hard nature lovers wanting to see some of the most unspoiled wilderness in Europe.  As a result a small business had cropped up to cater to these daring eco-tourists.  In the little shack that served as a storefront, Natasha spoke with a craggy-faced woman in rapid-fire Russian.  Cate and Clint stood back and admired the easy manner with which their co-worker ignored being back on her home soil, despite that home soil not being particularly welcoming.  Although not fluent in the language, it became apparent to both observers that negotiations were not trending in their favor.  When Widow came back with a grim look on her face, it was confirmed.

“She says that we can rent the ATV’s they have available, and buy any supplies we need, which unless you really have a hankering for jerky, I think S.H.I.E.L.D. has covered.”  Reluctantly, and only at gentle prodding from her partner, she continued.  “The bad news is that due to the recent…unrest…that this area’s gone through, it would be incredibly stupid to go anywhere without a guide who speaks the language.  The ATV’s can only seat two, so at least one of us would be alone.  I could probably get us out of any sticky spots, but neither of you speak Russian or Latverian.”

“I fail to see the problem.” Cate’s normally dry tone had been tinged with bitterness ever since the attack, lending a caustic air to any criticism, no matter how small.  “We do what she says; we hire a guide.”  Moving toward the weather-beaten old woman, she was stopped short, intercepted by a similarly ancient man.

“No. You are trouble.  _Government_ trouble.  We cannot afford.”

Something in the way he said ‘government’ sounded very familiar to Clint, who spent most of his childhood in Carson’s Carnival of Traveling Wonders.  To anyone that had a background involving carneys that tone said more than his broken English.  It said “I’m afraid of the government because I very probably have done something illegal, but not necessarily immoral.”  His willingness to step forward and body-block an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. said volumes too.  It said “I may be a societal outcast, but I still have many, many misfit friends who will fight beside me if needed.”  Altogether the man had told Clint everything he needed.

“Hey, Rube, show a little respect.” Clint took a bouncing step to stand beside Cate, catching the man’s rather suspicious eye. “Government Trouble here lost a sister in these woods, and I lost somebody who might as well be a brother.  We want to be gone as much as you want us gone, but we are _not_ leaving anyone behind.  I’m sure you know what I’m saying; family looks out for family, be they blood or otherwise.”

“Is very sad.  Hope you find.  _My_ family still cannot afford.”

The former stuntman dropped the cheerful tone of his voice, instead darkly growling.  “I understand wanting to dodge this particular bullet; I’ve done it before, many times.  But I’ve _never_ shoved another person in between me and it.” Slashing a hand down and to the side to emphasize the word ‘never’, he pushed his voice even darker.  “‘Ourselves to ourselves’ is one thing, but letting two people _starve_ to death in the woods, turning away two people who are way more like you than you think?  That is very, very different.  I don’t know about Russia, but in America we don’t reject another carney in a time of crisis.  It’s a code.”

The man stiffened in either shock or outrage, and then slowly relaxed.  “Yes, we have code too.  Is easy to forget, so many years we be respectable.  It must be turning me into Gadje.”  Shaking his head at this, he turned and gestured at a door covered in a thick curtain.  “Please, come in, we do business. My wife will bring bread.  Call me Dmitri.”

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Behind the heavy, tapestry-like curtain lay a dimly lit sitting room. Low sofas covered in threadbare red velvet circled a similarly dilapidated table, too tall to be a coffee table, too low to be anything else.  Framed palmistry diagrams shared the wall-space with shelves of strange-looking bottles and bundles of dried plants.  Gauzy blue-green scarves covered the room’s few lamps.  In all, it looked exactly how you’d expect a gypsy fortune-teller’s parlor to look. 

Taking a seat on the surprisingly comfortable couches, the rescue party watched as Dmitri removed the scarves, flipped the painted frames to show mirrors, and pulled down one of the bottles.  The increased light, now a natural pale yellow, rendered a very different appearance to the room.  Now it looked more like the living room of an under-funded eccentric.  As his wife entered the room with a tray of mismatched teacups, a salt-shaker and a loaf of brown bread, Dmitri moved to sit on the remaining sofa.  Their host pulled the stopper out of the green glass bottle he had previously brought down from a shelf.  Using the teacups, he poured a shot of strong-smelling alcohol for each of them.  When they all had a shot, he raised his cup in the near-universal sign for ‘cheers’.  Refusing to discuss business until the vodka was consumed; he insisted that it was “bad luck to do deal without having drink.”  When the acrid liquid had been finished, Dmitri steepled his fingers in front of his body.

“So.  Now we talk of our dealings.  You need guide, but to do what?  I have many cousins, but some are better at certain things.”

After a brief look passed between the agents, a silent agreement to let the one in the party who had netted this meeting take the lead.

“Well…” Clint’s voice began slowly, picking up in speed and strength as he went.  “We’re looking to do a search and rescue, so someone who knows the terrain would be helpful.  We may find our people in need of medical care, and I think we only have battlefield type training.” He looked hopefully at his companions.

“I’ve let my Red-Cross certs lapse, but I have all of Steve and Karen’s daily meds with me.”

“So, yeah, maybe someone who could handle typical nature-related first aid.  We’re expecting a tracker in a day or so, but we’d like to get a start, so a decent woodsman would be good.”  Not wanting to over-burden the list, Clint stopped there.  “Who do you have who can fit that bill?”

“My cousin Yuri, his daughter Tanya, they both can do this.  Yuri is better follower of trails, but Tanya grew up in these woods, knows them like they are her own home.  She also trained with avalanche crews in Urals.”  Pausing for thought, Dmitri leaned back in his chair.  “You want to hire both, that is thirty thousand American dollar.  You want hire only one: is twenty thousand.  Pay only in American dollar or Ruble, no Euro.”

“Seems a bit steep for a job that will likely only take 48 hours.”  Natasha spoke softly, taking care not to get agitated with the man.

“No, Tasha, that’s pretty normal for anything that puts the family at risk.  Besides, Stark’s good for it.” Clint waved her off.  “We’ll hire Tanya, but that much hard cash could take a day or two to arrive….”

“Da, I know the way it is.  Tanya will do the work, and we’ll wait for the money.  But Sergei Topolov at the customs is _also_ my cousin.  You understand?”

“We won’t run out on you.  I’ll sign a contract if you want.” Cate was antsy, and the words came out sharp.  The wizened gypsy didn’t seem to mind.

“Good that you understand.  Contract I do not need, unless you want magic paper to give you trust.  Now, to seal our agreement, in the way of my people, we eat of the bread and taste of the salt; that our deal be filling and pleasing to us both.” As he spoke, his wife passed out slices of the dark, nutty bread, dabbed with butter and sprinkled with salt.  When they all had eaten the bread, he poured another round of vodka.  They made a toast to family, and although it smelled and tasted like industrial disinfectant, the team all downed it, relieved that they would have a guide. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can find me here: bairnsidhe.tumblr.com. I'm very friendly, and if you send me an ask I will respond within 24 hours. If you let me know you're there for SBoRFW, I'll up my posting related to the Cap fandom.


	22. Searches and Sins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rescue team does some searching. Karen wants more fun, but Steve has some different ideas.

Tanya Popova was a compactly muscular girl with a deep gold tan and curly black hair.  When she came to meet the team, they could tell she had obviously been on a date, from the smudges of long-wearing make-up and the lingering smell of wine.  No one wanted to mention it, but they all felt nervous about going on the trail that night with someone not in full capacity.  Their concerns were answered by a similar sentiment from her elderly relations.  Although the conversation was held mostly in Russian, Natasha later translated the interaction for them all.

“Ay ay ay!  Tanya, you shame your family.  We talked you up to the rich gadje, and you’re _drunk_.”

“To be fair Zhenya, she didn’t know that, and they aren’t _all_ **complete** gadje.  The one with the bow could make a fine Romani, with a little work.” A thoughtful look crossed his face.  “You’re not getting any younger, out there carousing.”

“Oh, no. No, Uncle Dmitri.  No more blind dates! Our family is big enough that I can take my time, don’t you think?  And I’m not drunk.  I was out with that clumsy-but-persistent nephew of Aunties bridge partner, and he spilled wine on me.  I can show you the stain on my nice top, if you like.  I’m lucky I started keeping a change with me after he dumped borscht on me last time.”  Spotting the group, she awkwardly waved at them, before hissing back at her nagging family members.  “Not that it matters now that Auntie and I’ve shrieked at each other like harpies.  Just let me do my job.”  Walking away from them without waiting for an answer, she headed over to the group.

“It’s getting close to when the woods are dark, so if you’re determined to try for a few hours tonight, I can do that, but I’m not going to take untried folks into that heavy of terrain at night.”

“How long _can_ you take us out?”  The anxiety in Cate’s voice was rising with each delay.  “Karen’s already gone more than twenty four hours without her meds, and night’s not a great time for anyone with depression.”

“You never told me Karen had depression.” Hawkeye’s voice pitched higher in surprise.  “I guess that’s the reason you’ve been at the bit since you woke up, huh?”

“Well, yes, she does, and yes, it is.  I don’t _think_ she’s a danger to herself, yet, but I need to find her soon, so can we get moving?”

Acquiescing to the near-panicky agent, the group climbed into the two ATV’s and set out into the lengthening shadows, in hopes they could recover their people soon.

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Hawkeye and Black Widow spent the first half of the ride in awkward semi-silence, an unusual state for such a close team.  Also unusual was his stance in the front seat, leaning out of the cab ever so slightly.  It wasn’t much, but to someone accustomed to Clint’s aggravating tendency to ignore personal space boundaries, it was immediately obvious he was avoiding her.  Natasha wasn’t sure what had happened to change their dynamic, but whatever the cause, it was pissing her off.  Even the darkness in his eyes after his mind was hi-jacked by Loki hadn’t impacted the easy camaraderie between them, although he’d used it to push everyone else away.  *If anything this is like the tension we felt in Budapest, after falling into bed together.  But it’s been years since we saw each other as lovers, so why the sudden moodiness?* There was only one way to find out, but in the middle of the forest at twilight wasn’t the place or time to engage in a little ‘cranial recalibration’.  So she kept driving, every so often calling out for their wayward companions, as Clint swept the trees with a high-powered flashlight, using his better-than-average eyesight to scan for traces of Steve and Karen.

Cate grit her teeth at the jostling ride.  Since the first moment, the battered red and blue ATV had been stuttering and coughing its objections to being used, fighting her controlling hand.  Cate was used to Moto-Cross-type vehicles, and had quickly claimed the right to drive, but after only a handful of minutes it became clear that the snarling machine was a beast in its own right.  Resisting the urge to fight it out of stubbornness and pride, she signaled the others their need to switch drivers, pulling to an idled stop.  As she stretched her legs briefly, Tanya slid into the driver’s seat.  Clint and Natasha slowed as they approached the pair, but Cate had gotten the feeling back into her legs, and waved them on, anxious to keep going.  Following behind the two Avengers, she called out for her sister, occasionally letting out a high pitched whistle that was as unmistakable as it was long carrying.  That whistle had been a boon to them often enough on the streets that there was no way Karen could have forgotten the sound.

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Meanwhile, by a lake on the Latverian side of the border, Steve was reveling in the praise and happiness of his girl.  Knowing her dislike of the cold, and her disappointment at not having a fire their first night, he’d nearly whooped in excitement when he noticed the small, broken out-cropping of flint by the blackberries.  However, to keep his surprise actually a surprise, he managed to contain it.  He’d carefully gathered up pine-needles and small twigs in his pockets, making sure to surreptitiously shift some of the smaller sticks and branches from her pile of building materials over toward the broad, flat rock they’d spent the afternoon making love on.  Then, when Karen was busy with some fine point of hygiene by the stream, he’d carefully assembled a campfire, striking it lit with his belt buckle and the flint.  She’d returned to their camp to find a fire, bordered by rocks for safety and merrily crackling.  Overcome with the effort he’d gone to for something she’d gotten bitchy about the first night, it was all she could do not to just ravish him right there.  As it was, if they hadn’t had to watch the fire, she still might have when he mentioned that the little creek had fish in it, so tomorrow they could have real food.

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The team finally stopped their search when the light got low enough that the woods took on a haunted feel.  Even Cate had to admit that trying to find someone in such low light was an exercise in insanity.  As the ATV’s pulled into the gravel parking area, they heard another vehicle pulling up.  A classic Harley, well-kept and purring, pulled up next to them, its rider unmistakably the man called Wolverine.  His face was set in grim lines, but the only thing that betrayed his emotions was the way he swept his fingers though his thick black hair in frustration.

“I hear you folks are looking for somebody.  Somebody the fur ball says I know.  Anyone feel like telling me why I’m here?”

“We should take this inside.  I’d prefer not to discuss this out in the open.”  Widow was stiff in body and voice, still quietly pissed off at her partner.  Once in the cozy living room of the little shack, she began briefing the Tanya and Logan on their situation.  After a quick run-down of the events that led to Steve and Karen’s disappearance, carefully omitting Magneto’s role, the spy asked if they had questions.  Tanya didn’t, but Logan did.

“So, you’re telling me that some guy named Steve, who Hank seems pretty sure I know, just happens to get a full S.H.I.E.L.D. security detail, including two Avengers?  I ain’t stupid, you know.  Who is he really?”

The former agents tensed up, instinct demanding they keep quiet.  Catherine McCann, however, was tense enough already that the added pressure popped some invisible spring that had been winding tighter and tighter.  “The man we’re looking for is Captain Steven Rogers, better known as Captain America.  According to our best records, you served in a joint Allied task force with him and his Howling Commandos.” Ignoring the shocked look on her teammate’s faces, she continued.  “We’re also looking for my sister, Karen.  I can’t rest until she’s safe, I haven’t slept in any chunk longer than 45 minutes since she went missing, and if you refuse to help, I can’t be responsible for my actions.”

“Understood.  I don’t know if Beast told you, but I track by scent.  Do you have something that they wore?”  The animalistic mutant, the daughter of gypsies, and the straitlaced agent settled down to discuss tracking patterns.  Although an odd assortment of personalities, the three worked well together, working long into the night planning the next day’s search.

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In the morning, as the rescue team geared up to comb the northern end of the area, pushing south, Steve and Karen were trying to catch fish without any civilized means of doing so.  The thought had been to weave a net of sorts out of branches, but their first try had let the fish slip out easily.  The second try had been better, but still needed work.  Only the raw hunger for any form of protein kept Karen working, when she’d much rather repeat the previous afternoon’s love-making.  Steve, on the other hand, seemed very invested in the work.  Invested enough that he seemed not to get her subtle suggestions that they ‘take a break’.  Finally she’d had enough of trying to be delicate, classy, or indirect.

“Ok, so we’ve been at this since the sun came up.  Let’s just grab some blackberries, go back to camp and fool around.”  At his confused look, she continued.  “I haven’t had sex that good in _years_ and now that I have a source, I’m understandably less willing to diddle about with food when I can just smear blackberry juice on you and lick it off.”

“I’m not sure we should.” He shifted uncomfortably in place.  “I don’t want to take advantage of the situation more than I have already.”

“What do you mean ‘take advantage’?  We’re both consenting adults who love each other.  Aren’t we?  Because if that thing about loving me was a line of bull, then yes, you took advantage, but I don’t think it is.”

He whirled about to face her.  “Of course I love you.  Karen, you know me better than that.  I just think that maybe we should take things a little slower, because I’m _not_ a skirt-chaser, and I never have been.  I’m just not sure it would be right to go any farther just now.”  He sighed.  “I’m sure these words will precede a good number of fights between us, but in my day there was a right way and a wrong way to treat dames.” Seeing her glower, he course-corrected. “Women, sorry, I meant women.  And the world may have changed while I was frozen, but I still think there are a right and a wrong to an awful lot of things.  What we did felt great, don’t get me wrong, but should we do it again, just because it felt good?”

“You may have a point.  We could make all the promises in the world about keeping it safe, but until we have access to condoms and the pill, we’re always going to be tempted.” Seeing Steve’s stunned and slightly confused face, she began to think maybe she’d stumbled into another cultural minefield.  “Wait, safety was what you were talking about, right?  Not knocking me up?”

“Er, um, no.  I was thinking more of the ‘sin’ factor.”

About to lay into him again, she put her hands up in mock defeat, instead.  “Ok, ok, it adds up to the same thing.  But trust me, when we get back to civilization I am finding you a ‘history of the sexual revolution’ text book.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can find me here: bairnsidhe.tumblr.com. I'm very friendly, and if you send me an ask I will respond within 24 hours. If you let me know you're there for SBoRFW, I'll up my posting related to the Cap fandom.


	23. A Change of Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rescue is close at hand, but then, so is capture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to give a big thank-you to otaku330 of AFF, for her stirling work on the asthma attack scene (yes, that wonderfully descriptive paragraph is hers, I just worked out a way to fit it in the story.)

Late that afternoon, the rescue team took a sudden detour when the tachyon particle detector Natasha was carrying lit up.  Following both the strongest signal and Wolverine’s nose, they found the emergence point for their two teleported charges.  Logan found a small, rickety lean-to had been formed at the base of a pine tree not far away, but it was obvious it hadn’t been used since the first night the pair was on their own.

“The scent-trail leads that way, downhill.” Wolverine jerked his head to indicate the direction.  “Smart thing to do, that’s where they’d find water.”

“There’s a creek about five, six hours hike from here.”  Tanya pointed in the same direction.  “If they found the water they were looking for, that’s where they’ll be.

Heading out, the group was cheerful about their new clue, unaware that they weren’t the only ones about to make a discovery.

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Viper bit back a scream.  She hated this assignment, but she couldn’t have turned it down, not with the threat to her darling little kitsune.  Nihilist she may be, but the sweet child had a firm grip on the withered husk currently passing for Viper’s heart.  She was also losing her fight for the patience to cope with the witless robotic helper she’d been saddled with, ‘courtesy’ of Von Doom.  “No, you stupid bag of bolts!  You’re supposed to be doing a global scan for the _Grim Reaper,_ not snooping about with life-sign scans in the forest.”  The Doombot paid no attention to her, instead focusing on the controls for the spy drone it had re-tasked from the Latverian military.  As she reached across its barrel-chest to snatch at the joystick it was maneuvering, she caught sight of something that made her previous anger vanish.  Activating the intercom button, she sent out a jubilant cry; “Tolanski, Stromer, Jackson! Report to the motor pool, boys, we’ve got him!”  Then softer, with deep satisfaction, she spoke to herself.  “Hope you got the most out of him, girl, because your boy toy’s going away for a long time.”

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The screen Viper was looking at showed the two lovers sat on their sun-warmed rock tossing stones at the water.  From the closeness of the two, the way they leaned into one another, their connection was visible.  However, the drone couldn’t pick up the way the two lit up when they touched, or the quiet subtext of their pastime.

Steve wasn’t very good at skipping rocks, having grown up in a city with no real lakes, and his need to start work when his mom got sick had kept him from practicing in Central Park.  Karen was fairly good, getting seven or more skips on most throws, but when she saw him get frustrated, she started flubbing.  He knew she was missing on purpose, but couldn’t find a way to say anything without sounding insecure.  Instead, she started up a line of conversation.

“So…I pretty much told you my life story, and I didn’t even know you real name at the time.”

“I couldn’t tell you, for your safety. You know that.”

“I’m not saying you should have _then_ , just that you should _now_.” She poked him in the ribs. “So spill already!”

Acquiescing to her playful ‘demand’, he told her about being raised by his mother, about the Great Depression, his mother’s death, the fights, Bucky, Erskine, the War, even Peggy.  He poured out all the things he’d never told anyone, not even his team.  When the other Avengers had badgered him about his past, he’d put them off, afraid that re-hashing the painful parts would increase the pain.  Instead, telling Karen lessened the ache of lost friends and family.

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As the team of heroes found the creek, which necessitated a brief pause while Wolverine cast about for the scent, a low groan from upstream caught their attention.  Upon investigation, they found a shallow cave containing the malnourished form of the man whose interference had caused the uncontrolled slingshot in the first place.  As Cate and Natasha argued for a mercy shot with Tanya and Clint, who wanted to get him medical care, Logan wandered off to get away from the fight that had nothing to do with him.  Catching a familiar yet unexpected scent, he was about to call out to his companions when a scarf soaked in green liquid covered his face.

“Damn, we’ll have to get him back to the lab before we can do anything else.  At least we’ve deprived them of a tracker.”

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Not far away, Steve and Karen were searching the woods for any other forms of edible plants, as they didn’t want to over-harvest the blackberry patch.  Little knowing that both rescue and capture were so close, the pair scanned the woods in quiet companionship.  Then the wind shifted, carrying the odor of the liquid Viper had used on Logan. First it was a simple stink, bitter and acrid, but the burnt-plastic scent grew worse and worse.  Although distant enough that Karen could barely smell it, Steve had a stronger reaction. 

All of a sudden it hit him like a brick wall. The strong chemical smell assaulted his nostrils before engulfing his lungs in a sea of flames. Steve's breathing became ragged causing his throat to ache as it started to dry-out. His head felt like somebody had stuck it in an ever tightening vice, the throbbing pain like countless nails being drilled into his skull. Hyperventilating, he clutched onto the closest thing he could find as the world around him began to spin like a carousel.  Before he knew it his vision had darkened and he was swept into unconsciousness.

Karen nearly panicked, only her concern for Steve keeping her calm.  Looping her arm around his ribs, she hauled him back toward the camp.  Fortunately, he was light, and her strength held out until he began to come to.  His motions were still rocky, as though he were on the rocking deck of a ship, giving her the oddest impression of Captain Jack Sparrow.  Upon reaching the lake, the groggy man fell to his knees and began scooping up water, barely refraining from gulping it down.  It had been over seventy years since he’d had an attack that bad, but he still remembered his mother’s advice never to gulp a drink after an ‘episode’ as they’d called them, tempting though it may be.  As the fire in his chest faded, he became more aware of the painful, but less acute, headache growing in throbbing beats behind his left eye.  The migraine was made worse by the lingering, itching burn in his sinuses.  Sensing Karen beside him, worried, he tried to communicate what had happened, but with his raw, tight throat, all he could get out was, “S’ok.  ‘m alright, just… gahhh.”  At this point a stray beam of sun hit his eye, sending blinding pain ricocheting through his head.  Clasping his head, trying to block the light, sent a pretty clear signal to Karen, who carefully led him back to the tree, where he laid down to rest for a bit.

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“Logan! Logan, where are you!”  After much debate, the less extreme side of the argument had won, and the team was readying to take Reaper back to town for medical care.  However, one member of the team was missing.  After calling, searching the immediate surroundings, and revving the ATV’s engines, the team had to conclude that they had lost another member.

“Oh for Pete’s sake! How did we misplace _Wolverine_?” Clint threw up his hands in exasperation.  “It’s not like he’s the key to the Quinjet.  The guy weighs close to three hundred pounds with all that adamantium, and he’s not exactly quiet, with the growling and the cussing.”

Cate hurried up after a last sweep of the area.  “I don’t think we misplaced him, I found an unlit Te Amo cigar over by some broken shrubs.  It must have fallen out of his pocket, which, knowing his five-a-day habit, had to have happened when he was ambushed.  He wouldn’t just drop it.  We aren’t alone in this forest, and they aren’t friendly.”

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Hauling the unconscious mutant had proved more difficult than expected.  Jackson had wrenched his shoulder out of joint just trying to catch him, and Stromer broke a rib when he slipped going up a hill, and Wolverine’s heavy frame had landed on him.  *Serves him right for sheer stupidity* Viper thought.  *Hopefully we can still use him for _something_.  He is rather attractive, it’s just a pity that handsome head is empty.* In the end, they’d had to send for a pair of Doombots to carry the metal-boned man, giving Viper an excellent idea.  Once they’d stored their catch in a secure holding cell, she went straight to Von Doom’s throne room to petition him.  Her plan must have pleased the dictator, because he granted her request for ten Doombots.  Unfortunately, re-assigning the tasks of the robots would take a while, so the retrieval would have to wait until the obedience protocols could be given to Viper’s team.

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That evening Steve and Karen amused themselves by playing rock-paper-scissors, the winner getting a turn to ask a question of the loser.  Karen had proposed the game, saying that she’d seen it played in a movie once, but whatever the inspiration, Steve liked the casual approach to getting to know each other better, one that kept their minds off sex.

“Hmm, what’s your favorite color?” Steve grinned ruefully, knowing that question was duller than dull.

She wrinkled her nose and quirked her eyebrow in a face that clearly said ‘you’ve got to be joking’.  “I like yellow and blue, they feel like happy colors.  But I expect better from you next time.”  They readied their hands for the next go, which Steve won again.

“Well, there was one thing I wanted to know, but I gotta admit that it’s a bit embarrassing.  I’m not what you’d call up-to-date on a lot of things, so…” Finally steeling himself to ask her what was sure to be an awkward question he let the words burst out.  “What’d you mean when you said ‘condoms and the pill’?”

Karen couldn’t help laughing at the rushed way he’d blurted out his question, the words blurring together near the end as his mouth raced to keep up.  Seeing that this was being taken the wrong way, she quickly course-corrected.  “No, no, I’m not laughing at you, just that the answer is related to female biology, and I’ve never yet met a guy who didn’t get all flustered and panicky when a woman starts talking about ‘girly problems’.  It’s just funny to get asked that is all.”  When he’d calmed down, she continued.  “I’m sure you know about condoms, but maybe they were called something else then, I read once that they were called French letters in the twenties.” Seeing the light dawn in his eyes, she hurried to add, “But the ones today are much more effective and more comfortable.”

“As for the pill, that’s a medicine that, if I take it every day, keeps me from getting preggers.  I’m not ready for a kid, you know.”  Letting the quick information sink in for only a moment, she hurried the next game, her rock crushing his scissors.

“I could be totally evil and ask you what your favorite color is, but I think I’m going to let the irony rest.  Something you said earlier made me want to ask, what _is_ your religion anyway?”

“I was raised Catholic, but I haven’t been to mass in a while.  I went once after I got thawed out, but they’d changed so much, and it just didn’t feel like it used to.  I’d say I’m still Catholic, but the Church I knew is gone now, so… I don’t know.”

“Ahh, it’s like I always say, Religion is for people afraid of Hell.  Spirituality is for people who’ve been there and don’t want to go back.  Just so you know, that’s what I count myself as, Spiritual, but not Religious.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can find me here: bairnsidhe.tumblr.com. I'm very friendly, and if you send me an ask I will respond within 24 hours. If you let me know you're there for SBoRFW, I'll up my posting related to the Cap fandom.


	24. Captivity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Karen are taken prisoner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know why I kept Arnim Zola around, despite his being around in CA:tFA, is that he's just the best gosh darn super-villain biochemist ever. Also I've been re-watching Earth's Mightiest Heroes, and I love the scene where Zola tells Zemo to go get him a DNA sample of Steve's, and Zemo is all "I'll do that, so you can cure me." and I keep seeing this imaginary thought bubble over Zola's head saying "Yeah, we'll go with that."
> 
> Please note that my Zola is more like comics!Zola than movie!Zola.

Early the next morning, before Karen had even begun waking up, Steve woke with a start, his heart pounding, lungs fighting for air with a familiar burning sensation.  He wasn’t sure what had woken him, but he was sure it wasn’t anything good.  Upon looking around, though, he saw only the same tranquil forest, nothing remotely threatening.  Perhaps it was just old memories coming to haunt him from his past.  After all, they’d spent the last night talking about their respective pasts, including the little bits and pieces he knew of the organization that had chased them down to begin with.  It must have triggered some kind of bad dream, nothing more.  Reprimanding himself for foolishness, he relaxed back down into Karen’s warm embrace to try for a few more minutes of sleep.

As Steve was convincing himself that it was nothing, stealth-cloaked Doombots advanced on the pine tree the two lovers were sleeping under.  Not making a sound, an impressive task for a two ton machine, the Doombots circled their target, forming a perimeter.  Viper and her team advanced on the tree once their borrowed robotic men had a solid position.  There was no sneaky teleporter, this time; the moment for Viper to claim her prize was upon them, and there was nothing the no-longer-super soldier could do.  With a quick mist of sleeping gas to keep them docile, Viper and her team gathered up the duo to return to Zemo.

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Arnim Zola was growing concerned.  The Viper had turned their quarry over three hours ago, departing with her fascinating kitsune, and Captain America had yet to wake.  That specimen was worth far less dead than alive, after all, dissection could do only so much.  Although, he had to admit, the assumed value was based on the presumption that this was indeed the Captain America of the forties, a fact the scrawny figure put into doubt.  If this really was what Erskine had to work with, he was a better scientist than any member of Hydra had given him credit for.  They’d all assumed that the story of a boy so sick and frail becoming the pinnacle of physical perfection was yet another American propaganda, the physical embodiment of their precious ‘American Dream’, no more real than King Arthur or the Aeneid.  But if Viper’s intelligence was right, then he was currently monitoring the fragile life-signs of a real, living legend.

It had taken all his skill to keep the boy from dying, and even so, the recovery balanced on a tight rope.  As it was, only the specialized oxygen mask covering his nose and mouth was keeping him breathing, at least until he could do that on his own.  He’d had a mild fever and some swelling in his joints when Viper brought him in, necessitating a cocktail of anti-inflammatories, febrifuges and painkillers on constant IV drip.  His color was getting better, now that they had stabilized his blood sugar and gotten some iron supplements in him.  But for all that work, at this rate of improvement, they might as well go back to focusing on the Dreadnaught program.

The female specimen was presenting better endurance, even waking slightly in the prep room before Zola had a chance to re-administer the sleeping drug, but she wasn’t the target.  The only reason Zemo ordered her kept alive was as leverage against the Captain.  Her DNA revealed nothing particularly interesting and even her value as a test subject was debatable.  He had plenty of data on baseline subjects; his scientific pursuits now required something a bit more special.  She presented no interest, but her ability to shake off the sleep gas, a particularly potent form Viper concocted, marked her as a potentially difficult subject.  He’d like to just put her down and be done with it, but orders were orders, and no-one disobeyed the master of Hydra. 

Nevertheless, it paid to keep subjects likely to be noncompliant close, so he had her restrained in the main lab.  Remembering where that lab was, and the price promised to obtain it, Zola hoped Captain America would wake soon, otherwise his ability to create cures for Zemo and Von Doom was greatly impaired.  Not that he doubted himself, of course, he was the greatest biologist to ever walk the earth, but men with chronic, agonizingly painful conditions were more likely to lash out, and the ability of each to injure him had been proven.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Karen awoke in a large stone hall, shivering against the moist granite blocks her wrists had been chained to.  She blinked the sleep-gas induced grogginess from her eyes, taking in the room with quick, darting glances.  It easily could have been Castle Frankenstein in any black and white horror flick.  Grey stone, polished steel, and dark wood covered every surface, and one wall was consumed by an elaborate glass beaker set up, like the ones in any good Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde movie. The ceiling was high enough it was impossible to see in the murky torchlight.

*Seriously? Honest-to-God _torches_? Was there a sale at the German Science Villain Cliché-mart?  Or are they that cheesy in real life too?* 

The smoke from the burning wood drifted down and stung her eyes, the smell causing her to wrinkle her nose.  The smell was awful, but worse than that was her bladder letting her know that mutiny was eminent, should she fail to get to a bathroom.  While she was debating whether to call out for a guard or someone to ask for a pee break or to piss herself in protest like the hippies of the sixties (props to them for nonviolent resistance, but _yech_!), her captors walked in.  Taking that as a sign, she cleared her throat to get their attention.  They ignored her, which she decided to take personally.  ‘The girl-friend of my enemy is my target’ aside; that was just rude. Steve had said the purple-clad swordsman was arrogant; perhaps derision would get his attention. 

“Hey, you there! You with the sword, I’m talkin’ to you! Am I gonna get a bathroom break or somethin’ any time soon?  And can you do something about those goddamn smog machines pretending to be lights?  You’ve got more toxic smoke in here than the testing lab at a cigarette factory.”  She gave her complaints the most scorn, vitriol, and mockery she could muster. 

There was little perceptible change in him.  But not for nothing had Joslyn Kirby cast her as Fortunata the Psychic in the Cirque des Merveilles fundraiser every summer.  She could tell he was fighting the urge to acknowledge her presence.  *Let’s see, his type is always about control, and to him, reacting to the goads of a lowly prisoner would be a failure.  A straight attack would be useless.  No, I have to dust off my con artistry.  Make him feel inferior, con him into believing I don’t fear him, find him unimpressive.  That would make him look at me, recognize my existence.  Then, he couldn’t ignore me without it looking like retreat.*

“By the way, _love_ the décor.”  She heaped on all the sarcasm in her vast reserves of emotional avoidance techniques. “I saw the exact same thing in the _Castlevania_ game.  Ooh, I’m sorry, was this meant to be scary?  Please, you don’t even rate in my top ten jailers.  My babysitter was scarier.” 

*On second thought, Ms. Flemings wasn’t scary, just exasperating to the point of Geneva Convention violations.  It was the prospect of enforced proximity that was terrifying.* 

Focusing on the villain again, she saw her taunts weren’t cutting it. His shoulders did tense up, and the hand she could see had fisted, but he was steadfastly refusing to acknowledge her existence.  Thinking over her Annoying People Hall of Shame, she decided to pull out the big guns. *They think they’re tough?  All right, you second-rater; let’s see how you handle a Whiney-mann Special.  Heh, never thought I’d ever be glad I knew the Heinemann’s.*

She took a deep breath and blew it out, flexing her diaphragm, her second breath filling her lungs to capacity. Closing the nasal passage at the back of her throat and pitching her voice a half octave higher and twice as loud, she began to harass the less oblivious of the two villains in a near perfect imitation of the nasal voice of her downstairs neighbor back home.  She clearly heard the same fight so often, that by now it was like a memorized script.

“While we’re at it, would it kill you to clean this dump once in a while?  It’s disgusting.  I’d call it a pigsty, but that’s an insult to pigs!  It smells gawdawful, like…” She hesitated, because the next line referenced Mr. Heinemann’s Aunt Delilah, which wouldn’t work in this context. “like when the Roth boys blew up the wall between the boys bathroom toilets and the chem lab.  And _what_ in the name of all that is holy is _that_?”  Only having heard this fight, she never found out what ‘that’ was.  She suspected it was hooch of some sort, and didn’t blame the guy for self-medicating.  Instead, she pointed a contemptuous sneer at a convenient dribble of olive-green goo oozing down the wall a little ways from her.  She really didn’t want to know, because it was almost certainly something nauseatingly vile, but once in the groove of a con, she never could stop.  “You like to pretend the world’s done you wrong, but you’re just a lazy, filthy bum.  Who lives in a pathetic, squalid ruin.” Seeing his shoulders hunch, the tension of his spine quivering with rage, she knew she was close.  Dropping the inflection, she muttered just high enough to be heard, barely.

“No wonder you always fail.”

The resulting explosion of anger nearly blasted her head off, but did have a good result as far as the con went.  Letting her muscles go soft, she stared at the closest approximation of the villain’s left ear.  Reciting the lyrics to ‘Straight up’ by Paula Abdul in her head, she gave every appearance of not caring one bit about the threatening man looming over her.  Before the second chorus was over, he finally asked her a question, letting her into the conversation, giving her power, although he couldn’t know that. 

*Ha!  Buddy, you just got conned by the Kare-Bear!* she thought, while out loud she said in a calmly slow drawl “Indeed, I do not know nor care who you are, I just want to use a bathroom.  Your other option, of course, is to just let me pee myself.  If you really _do_ like living in these conditions, I suppose that _could_ be what you’d prefer to do.”  Phrasing it like that was the psychological equivalent of a pincer attack, either she got a bathroom or he had to admit to enjoying the surrounding squalor.  *Point, me.*

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Meanwhile, the rescue team located the camp, despite losing Wolverine.  It hadn’t been too hard, as the camp was downstream from the place they’d found the creek.  The pine tree lean-to was more sturdily constructed, and the remains of a small campfire were left on a flat boulder nearby, along with a small pile of fish bones.  It looked as though the couple would return at any moment, although the team knew otherwise.  They could clearly see the tell-tale size twenty footprints that told them of the Doombot ambush, striking fear in Cate’s heart as she realized where her sister must be.  *Stay cool, Cate.  Karen’s been in tough places before, and gotten out just fine.  She’s a though nut to crack, harder than some of the S.H.I.E.L.D. recruits you’ve been an SO for.  You’ll get her back, you just have to hold on to hope.*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can find me here: bairnsidhe.tumblr.com. I'm very friendly, and if you send me an ask I will respond within 24 hours. If you let me know you're there for SBoRFW, I'll up my posting related to the Cap fandom.


	25. Rebellion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forms of rebellion.

An emergency meeting of all the Avengers had been called the moment the Doombot footprints had been found.  Tony, Bruce and Thor flew out to meet the team at the tiny hotel the official rescue team had rented rooms at.  Beast had helpfully called in a few favors to get them landing clearance, and set up a video conference call with the Fantastic Four.  The call was dominated by Tony, Bruce, Hank and Reed, who spent the time discussing the security systems likely in place.  Like any collaboration between smart, strong-willed individuals, the four scientists butted heads at first.

“No, no, you misunderstand, Victor Von Doom’s skin has metallic properties, but it doesn’t have any magnetic field.” Reed’s voice crackled and his image wavered over the shaky internet connection. “I’d recommend avoiding him; he’s usually up in his ‘throne room’, far from the basement labs.”

“Usually won’t cut it, he’ll know we’re there, for certain, with this security.” Bruce paused a moment, bracing for his next statement. “Especially if I have to let the other guy out.  He’s kind of hard to miss.”

“Then this is a suicide mission!  It takes heavy firepower to get Victor to even _notice_ that you’ve hit him, but he knows every inch of his own defenses, and he doesn’t take kindly to trespassers.  I’m surprised you got that close to his territory without taking casualties.”

“Well, technically, Logan counts as MIA….”

“What about the Doombots?  You’re pretty handy with computers, McCoy, right? You can hack the mainframe and steal us his giant robots.  We can use them to contain the lab assistants and help us break out.”

“Damn it Tony, I’m a doctor, not a miracle worker!  Victor Von Doom’s got state-of-the-art security protocols, his RSA implementation is completely unhackable without being plugged into his network, from the inside.”  The blue fur prevented his face from visibly turning red with anger and frustration, but his body language spelled it out fairly clearly.  “What about liquid nitrogen as a paralytic for both Dr. Doom and his robotic helpers, with some kind of mordant as a back-up? Concentrated Tetrahydrocloride should work.” 

“What kind of delivery system are we talking about here?  Tony, can you repurpose the nanocyte missile array we came up with a few months ago?”

“Yeah, but that’ll mean I have to get up close and personal, like ‘buy a guy a drink first’ close.  I’m not wild about that.  But if I can get some ten gauge tubing, I could re-use the flame thrower design from my Mark one….”

While a steady stream of technobabble issued from the corner the three scientists were using for the conference call, Natasha relayed the vision she’d had of the tunnels under the castle of Victor Von Doom.  Using that insider knowledge and the experience of the heroes who most often fought Doom, the team assembled a plan of attack.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

While the gathering of heroes planned a rescue, Karen and Steve were simply trying to stay alive.  He’d woken late in the afternoon the day they were captured, and Zola wanted to give him a bit of time to recover before beginning the strenuous testing needed to discover what had made the Super in the Soldier.  So, he’d been relocated to a cell in the branch of the dungeon closest to the lab.  After Karen’s psychological attack on Zemo had successfully snapped the resolve of the proud swordsman, she too had been relocated.  They put her in the cell opposite Steve’s as an incentive for good behavior.  It was made quite clear, almost graphically so, to them both that any infraction would result in the other being harmed.  It kept them docile in the presence of their captors, while when left alone they did all they could to keep their spirits up.  Nightly pun wars were a small rebellion, but a safer one than outright revolt.

“Hey, Steve, I got one for ya.  A famous Viking explorer returned home from a voyage and found his name missing from the town register. His wife insisted on complaining to the local civic official, who apologized profusely saying, ‘I must have taken Leif off my census!’” Steve groaned in appreciation.

“I’ll see your horrible pun and raise you a tall tale.  You see, during the War, I happened to spend some time with a submarine captain who had been ordered to take a British spy named Harry Lyme to Walter Reed Medical center to have his eyes checked, for he appeared to be going suddenly blind.  All was well and good, until my friend found out that Harry had a lady friend living in the area.  He didn’t _think_ the man’s eye condition was faked, but he still couldn’t risk Harry skipping the appointment to have some quality time with his girl.  So when it came time to disembark, he took the man aside and said ‘I’m ordering you to go directly from the Sub, Lyme, to the Reed oculist.’”

“Oh, that is baaaad.  I surrender, you win.  I can’t top that.”

“I win huh? What’s my prize?”

Thinking a moment she came up with an idea.  “I know!  Your prize is I tell you a story.  I had wanted to show you the movie, but we didn’t get to it.  Fortunately I have the thing practically memorized.  It’s called The Princess Bride.”

“I’d love to have you tell me a story, really.  But I’m not real sure that’d be one I’d get into.  Sounds, I don’t know…”

“Like a chick flick?  To girly and mushy?  Don’t worry, it’s an exciting story, I swear.  To quote the movie it has ‘Fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, miracles...’” Her imitation of the grandfather from the movie was spot on.  “I promise, it has a little of everything, but fair warning, it does kind of start out girly and mushy.  Would you be willing to give it a chance, anyway?”

“If you like it, I suppose the least I can do is give it a shot.”

“Alright.  It begins with a farm, a girl named Buttercup and the boy who helped her run that farm, Westley, only she never called him that, she only called him Farm boy.  Let me see if I remember this part right… ah yes. Nothing gave Buttercup as much pleasure as ordering Westley around.

“Farm boy, polish my horse's saddle. I want to see my face shining in it by morning.”

"As you wish"

“Farm boy, fill these with water.”

 “As you wish.” 

“Whenever she gave these orders, ‘As you wish’ was all he ever said to her. One day, she was amazed to discover that when he was saying "As you wish", what he really meant was, "I love you." And even more amazing was the day she realized she truly loved him back.”  Karen continued the story, even mimicking the accents of the actors, using her skill as an actress to create a thorough mental escape from their captivity.  And despite the less-than-macho beginning, Steve seemed as caught up in the story as she had been as a girl, watching the movie for the first time. Despite the lack of visuals, the magic of storytelling gave them both a chance to not feel so lost or alone.  Even when the story was over, they still felt the warm inner glow of its fantasy world.

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The next morning, cursing and muttering to himself over the microscope he was looking into, Zola was coming to realize that whatever knowledge that could have been gained from the Captain’s blood had be irrevocably damaged by whatever had reverted his body.  Only incomplete wisps and broken fragments of the serum remained in his system.  After great effort, he might, _might_ , just be able to restore the Captain’s enhancements, increasing both his value as a specimen and the risks involved in keeping him.  *It is a risk that must be taken, if I am to succeed.  We shall have to use the female as a control for him, though.* Leaning over the PA system’s microphone, he ordered the Captain brought to him.

The man now confirmed as Captain America was hardly the imposing figure from the forties propaganda.  With the threat to Karen hanging in the air, he was almost meek in his bearing.  It was obvious that he cared for her well-being more than for his own, so threatening her had seemed like the best way to ensure co-operation.  It seemed to be working, as he barely raised a fuss over even the most painful of the procedures.  The straw that seemed to break the camel’s back, as it were, was when a handful of lab assistants on coffee break began questioning what he saw in such a tubby, frumpy looking girl.

“Must be a goddamn wildcat in bed.  That’s the only explanation.”

“O’ course she’d be, girl what looks like that must go years before she gets any.” 

“Just gotta wonder what tempted ‘im in the first place.  Personally, I’d have to be blind drunk.  Ugly bitch, and fat to boot.”

“I dunno, if she’s good enough in bed, I might just give her a visit, just gotta keep the lights off. Har har.”

Breaking free of the two lab techs that had been pulling him toward yet another machine, he leapt at the two nearest offenders, breaking one’s nose and leaving a goose-egg knot on the temple of the other.  It wasn’t something any of them thought he could do in his current state, but adrenaline and anger gave him strength.  As he laid into the rest of the men, he let loose a tirade of frustrated rage.  “How dare you!  That girl is _not_ fat, _not_ ugly, and that is _not_ up for debate.  It’s braying jackasses like you that created a system that rips to shreds any woman, no matter their true loveliness, who doesn’t fit your flawed, asinine definition of beauty.  Thanks to creeps like you, the woman I love more than life itself thinks she’s ugly, and I’m left fighting an uphill battle to convince her I love her. You do _not_ get to disrespect her. You. Will. Not. Touch. Her.” He punctuated the words with blows to the subject of his anger.  “I WILL _NOT_ ALLOW YOU TO HURT HER!!!”

A well placed stun-gun to his back brought him down as his rage hit its peak.  As he convulsed on the floor, Zemo knelt by him, saying “Oh, but we will.  You knew the rules; you caused this.” Standing, he barked orders. “Get those two cleaned up. You can chain the Captain in the main lab.  I’ll go get the girl.”

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Back in the cells, Zemo steeled himself to confront the harpy, as he thought of her.  He was looking forward to punishing her, and had been since their first meeting.  Roughly hauling her to her feet and into the stone hall by the handcuffs they left on her, he began to use this opportunity to rub his success in her face.  He won so infrequently that when he was winning he couldn’t help but gloat.

After about five minutes of hackneyed villain monologue, Karen had had enough.  Interrupting she began a monologue of her own.  “You people have pattern recognition problems, you know.  I could be a better villain, success-wise, because I at least can at least identify the common pitfalls you people just leap into, like lemmings.” Thinking back to her story-time with Steve, she smiled; a disconcerting expression on a bound prisoner.  “The rules are simple; never start a land war in Asia, never gamble with a Sicilian when death is on the line, and never, but _never_ monologue long enough to let the good guy sneak up behind you.”  The purple-clad villain spun abruptly, to ward off an attack, but the hall was empty.  Taking a firm step forward, Karen punted him in the groin from behind.  As he lay prone and whimpering, she removed the ring of keys from his belt, freed herself, and used her own manacles to handcuff him to the cell. Patting his cheek in ridicule, she gave him a parting pithy quip. “And, while you’re at it, never underestimate the love interest.  We can be feisty when pissed off.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You just know there's got to be a Bones joke when Beast's involved. I make no apologies for that. Or for the puns.
> 
> As always, you can find me here: bairnsidhe.tumblr.com. I'm very friendly, and if you send me an ask I will respond within 24 hours. If you let me know you're there for SBoRFW, I'll up my posting related to the Cap fandom.


	26. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rescues happen in all sorts of ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so slight change to canon regarding The Wolverine. I know after that movie, Logan has his bone claws back. But I needed him to have the knife-like ones. So I blame Days of Future Past. Somehow, what he changed saved his metal claws. I don't know how, but that's my story.

The Avengers steadily cleared the tunnels under Doom’s castle, staying quiet and on point.  Gaining entry had been a relatively simple matter; Tanya had pointed them to a place where the natural-cave section opened up behind a waterfall.  Once in, they worked quickly, and as a team they swept through the tunnels, finally reaching the carved portion.  Entering where they had seemed to have put them at the enemy’s back, and they successfully took down half a dozen Doombots and numerous armed guards from behind.  However, as they got closer to the hub of activity, it became clear there was something else going on.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Steve was sweating profusely, his breathing labored and heavy.  His arms felt both numb and sore at the same time, and his legs barely held his weight.  He was vaguely aware of the Hydra scientists gabbling at one another, but he couldn’t focus enough to tell what they were so agitated about.  He heard them say the word vermisst a lot, that meant missing, didn’t it?  He also recognized ausbrechen; that meant escape, or break out.  He fought to get his mind to connect the pieces.  They were missing someone, a man, and someone else, a woman, had broken out of the dungeon.  The only dungeon he knew of was empty, save for Karen.  *Oh, God, please let her get free.  I didn’t mean to get her hurt, I just felt so strange, and they were saying they’d hurt her, anyway… Please let her escape, please.*

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Karen had picked her way through the narrow stone halls, trying her best to remember any landmark or clue.  She had a dim memory of almost coming around, before she really woke up for good in the lab, but was unable to locate where she had been.  The paler stone on this hallway had seemed familiar, at first, but she was getting discouraged when she heard a voice call her name.  Startled, she cautiously peered in the barred window of the thick prison door the voice came from.  A stocky, hairy and very naked man hung spread-eagle by his wrists from chains suspended from the ceiling, his legs similarly chained to the floor.  His shaggy head hung limp, for a moment, then lifted, as the man moved his head as though he were a bloodhound casting for a scent.

“That is you, isn’t it?  Your sister’s looking for ya, I was helpin’ ‘er, till I got caught.  Think you can let me out?”

“How… how do I know that you’re telling the truth?  You could be some kinda murderer, trying to trick me.”

“Huh. ‘Some kinda murderer?’ Yeah, I guess that could be said.  Look, girl, what I do isn’t very nice, no, but I’m the best there is at it, and I always do my job right.  An’ right now, my job is savin’ you and Steve Rogers.  I can’t break out of here alone, and you can’t find your way out without my nose, so I think we’d better work together.”

“I’m not sure…I still need proof you came from my sister.”

“Fine, I can respect that.  I track with my nose, so to get me your scent she gave me some of your laundry, a yellow sweater, and a really old stuffed toy rabbit with a bald spot on its side.”

Recalling her childhood toy, one of the only things they’d taken with them when their lives imploded, she felt hope, but in her life, that emotion was always tempered with distrust and suspicion. “What color was the rabbit?”

“I think it mighta been blue or purple, once, but it is grey now.”

“Ok, I believe you.  How do I get you out?”

Working with the man in the cell, she released the oversized metal gauntlets that covered his forearms.  Dropping to the floor, the man rubbed at his arms and flexed his hands for a few minutes; she supposed getting the blood back into them.  He then guided her through the same process for the ankle cuffs, at which point he stood up and told her to go find him some clothing.  She protested that she still needed to get the door unlocked, but he insisted.  Figuring the guy needed some degree of control after being chained up naked, she ducked into a room she’d noticed earlier, one that held coveralls.  When she returned, however, she found the door cut to shreds, and her mystery friend was sprouting knife-like blades from his knuckles.

“I see you let yourself out.”  Fear stiffened her aspect, as it always had, pulling a smooth and unflappable veneer over her inner gibbering terror.  “I got you a pair of coveralls. I hope they fit, Mister….”

Logan chuckled, impressed by her cool acceptance of his deadlier side. “It’s just Logan, kid, and they’ll do.”

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The fog over Steve’s mind was lifting, enough to perceive the note of panic in the lab.  Zola was directing the packing of some scientific looking thing, something with no obvious purpose and therefore most likely very important, the omnipresent Doombots were conspicuously missing and no-one was even looking at him.  The manacles on his wrists started to hurt, and when he looked at them, he realized he was getting more muscular.  It wasn’t a fast or sudden change, like when he first gained this body, but he could tell he was steadily regaining the physique he’d had as Captain America.  Whatever the procedures had done, the result seemed to be a restoration of his super-soldier state.

As he was pondering whether this development could free him, he heard explosions from down one of the back halls.  A few beats later he heard another round of blasts, closer, preceded by the distinctive twang of a bow, and followed by a deafening roar.  *Hah! Good luck getting out of here now Zemo.  Your little operation is going down now that the Avengers are here.*  Sure enough, a few moments later, Thor came flying into the room, followed by the Hulk.  On their heels came Hawkeye, Black Widow and a cobalt blue figure that looked like a cross between a big cat and an ape.  Steve supposed that was a mutant, as he was wearing a leather suit of the kind used by many super-humans.  The lab became a battlefield, the halls spewing hundreds of armed soldiers, Doombots, and lab assistants carrying high tech weapons.  Things seemed grim for his teammates and the furred mutant, who had to focus on the heavy weaponry and the massive robots, leaving themselves open to attack from ordinary guns.  As the last of the Doombots fell, the soldiers in the back of the formation broke and ran, a short, hairy man in a grey jumpsuit appearing from one of the corridors they had come from.  The man held knives in his hands, it seemed, until Steve got a better look.  *Those knives are coming _out of his hands_!  How is that possible?  It’s almost like…but he would be over a hundred now.  Still, he looks an awful lot like him… it must be his son.*  But as he watched the fluid motion of the new fighter, it became more and more clear.  This man _was_ James Howlett, as impossible as that was.  *I suppose I really have no room to judge impossible anymore.  But I’ll definitely have to buy him a drink and ask him how he pulled it off.*

The addition of Wolverine to the fight broke the resolve of the soldiers, and the Avengers stood victorious.  A much-battered Tony flew into the room as Widow sprung the lock on Steve’s wrist cuffs, announcing that they should probably get out before the notoriously un-welcoming Dr. Doom woke up and took back his castle.  As Steve was protesting that they’d have to go back into the dungeons for Karen, he was exuberantly tackled in a vice-grip hug that didn’t hurt quite as much now that he had his former body back.  As the team evacuated through the cave-system, he swept her up to carry her in his arms, and she kissed him on the cheek quickly, before blushing, head tucked down shyly.

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The Avengers were all on the Quinjet headed home when everyone’s adrenaline rushes faded enough to let certain facts absorb, such as the sudden restoration of Steve’s restored abilities.  The first to mention it was Karen, her already blunt way of speaking given an extra matter-of-factness by the extreme exhaustion.

“Did you get taller?  You got taller.  And you bulked up a bit.  You’re not on steroids or anything, are you?”

“Hem, ah, no.  Zola put me through…some procedures that got me back my old body, the one I had as Captain America.  I suppose I have at least one thing to be grateful for in our capture, but I wish they hadn’t put you through that.  How did you escape? Did James get you out?”  He shot a grateful look at the burly man now uncomfortably settled in his seat. 

The man in question grunted; then answered for an embarrassed Karen.  “No, bub, _she_ busted _me_ out.  Bastards had a magnetic cuff on my ankle, to keep my claws in.  Couldn’t ‘a gotten out, if she hadn’t come by.  An’ why’d ya call me James? Name’s Logan.”

“It was James once, James Howlett.  You were a Canadian Ranger I fought beside once, though I thought for certain anybody from then would be either dead or decrepit.  I take it you don’t recall?”

“Nope.  Everything before ’79 is a wash.  I was, well some things happened, and I wound up with a sort of amnesia.”

“Was that when you got the claw upgrade?  I remember bone ones.”  Seeing the discomfort on the mutant’s face, Steve quickly redirected the conversation.  “If you’ll let me buy you a beer sometime, I’d like to talk old times, trip down memory lane and all.  It might jog something loose.  You still like Carling Black?”

“Yeah, and I just might take you up on that, bub.”

The rest of the flight passed quietly, and before the two rescued lovers knew it, they were landing on top of Avengers Tower, both being bustled away to be checked over by Jarvis’s medical protocols.  After a gloriously hot shower, Karen fell right asleep on a wonderfully soft king-size bed in one of the tower’s many guest rooms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can find me here: bairnsidhe.tumblr.com. I'm very friendly, and if you send me an ask I will respond within 24 hours. If you let me know you're there for SBoRFW, I'll up my posting related to the Cap fandom.


	27. Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes peace is more complicated than battle.

While Karen was sleeping the sleep of the dead, Steve was charged with debriefing the team.  He did so in a briskly military way, careful to avoid any mention of the new relationship between the two.  He did this for two reasons, for one thing, it wasn’t anyone else’s business, and secondly, he wanted to have a conversation with Karen first.  Being a costumed hero wasn’t a safe job, especially for loved ones.  He really wanted what formed between them to last, but first she deserved the full disclaimer.  He was mentally constructing how he wanted to bring that topic up when Tony noticed the far-away look in his eyes.  Rather than making a quip or an innuendo, though, the inventor just made an excuse about needing to run another diagnostic on Steve, something he’d forgotten.  Bruce didn’t think they’d forgotten anything, but Tony rarely admitted to having missed something, even when he had, so no one questioned his claim.  When they were alone, the normally brash man spoke with uncharacteristic kindness.

“Something more happened, didn’t it?  Something you’re keeping secret.”

“Oh for Pete’s sake, Tony…. There’s a difference between _private_ and _secret_ , you know.”

“I don’t need to know details, nor do I _want_ to know details.  I just want to know if you’ve thought about what this means, long term.  I’m in a bit of a unique position to understand the issue here.  Bruce and Betsy had been on again off again from when he got his powers until the Battle of New York, and Thor is in the very definition of a long-distance relationship, and both of them are virtually indestructible.  Clint and Natasha, I can’t tell half the time if they’re just partners or an old married couple, but they can both fight.  I’m the only one on the team with a steady, non-combatant girlfriend who worries herself sick over me being Iron Man.  I can tell you from experience, Karen’s going to have to make some pretty big adjustments if you want this to work, and that means you will too.” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, realizing how many things Steve would need to think about.  “Please tell me you’ve thought it over.”

“I was just thinking about it when you said something about a CAT scan.  Mainly just warning her about the hazards of going steady with a Super Soldier.”

“I think maybe being locked up in a Latverian dungeon gave her a good idea of the hazards.”

“Good point.  What else are you thinking?”

“Well, as you know, she’s going to be a target, so living here would be the best way of keeping her safe.”  Seeing the protest form on his friend’s lips, he cut in quickly.  “Not in your room until you both feel comfortable with that, just inside our defense tech.  She’s already in a guest room; we can give her that one.  I’d also recommend offering to get her basic self-defense lessons.  Pepper’s been taking Aikido classes, I can sign her up for the same ones if she’d like.  I’ve noticed I get nagged less for reckless behavior when she’s fresh from the dojo, must be an ‘equalizing of power’ thing.  Oh, and communication is key.  I have cell service built into the suit so I can call home and let her know I’m ok after a mission, and do I ever get chewed out when I can’t call her.”

“Ok, so, live here, self-defense class, communication.  That all?”

“Off the top of my head, yes.  I’ll also ask Pepper later if I’ve missed something, maybe ask her to suggest a girl’s night for them.”

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The next day, Karen was finally waking, sometime in the late afternoon by the light.  *Oh god, have I really been asleep all day?*  She looked about the room for a clock, finally spotting a slim glass digital clock on the dresser.  The time she saw there startled her.  “Holy fuck, it’s three twenty?” 

“Actually Miss McCann, it is three nineteen” said a polite British voice, causing her to jump a bit, clutching the comforter up to her chest.  Looking about to ask who the hell he was, she couldn’t see where the voice was coming from, but the speaker seemed to know her question.  “Allow me to introduce myself; I am Jarvis, Mr. Stark’s personal AI program, I handle any needs related to the tower, among other functions, such as guiding visitors new to the tower.”  There was a slight pause, almost reticent.  “It helps some people to think of me as a butler, although that is a gross oversimplification.”  The voice sounded mildly aggrieved, an impressive subtlety in a machine.  The humanness of the AI made Karen a little more at ease for some odd reason.

Karen climbed awkwardly out of the enormous bed, now she knew there wasn’t a peeping Tom, or at least one that would care about her state of undress.  Her pajamas were what she’d been wearing when they got sent halfway round the world, and at this point unfit to wear, and although Cate had her regular clothes, she’d slept in a sleep shirt borrowed from Natasha.  It barely came to mid-thigh, and any large body movement flashed her favorite bright blue panties bearing the legend **Baby Got Back** across the butt. 

In the bathroom, she found a new toothbrush and cinnamon toothpaste, not her favorite flavor, but beggars can’t be choosers.  After taking care of the beyond-morning breath, taking another long, hot shower, and toweling dry her hair, she re-donned the clothes she wore in and went back out into the bedroom to get dressed. Still a bit self-conscious, she told herself to quit being silly and allowed herself a good stretch as she entered, but misjudged the distance between the dresser and her foot, catching her big toe on the hard wooden frame.  Holding her foot up, bent over it, she let out a startled string of cuss words.

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Steve was getting worried about Karen.  Missing breakfast was to be expected, and even lunch could be explained by extreme exhaustion, but it was close to four thirty, and she’d yet to leave her room.  There was nothing for it, he decided, but to go see if she was alright.  A light knock on the door yielded no response, and he was about to knock a bit harder, when he heard a yelp of pain and Karen calling someone a ‘mother-fucking son of a bitch’.  Panicked, he burst into the room, only to be struck dumb by the sight of Karen’s bare legs, and the attention catching blue undergarment.  He stood there for a moment that felt like forever, before she turned and he saw tiny tears at the corners of her eyes.  Instantly he rushed to comfort her, getting her to the bed to sit when he saw her favoring one foot.  In tiny bits and pieces the two of them got the full story put together, finally ending with laughter at the way the world sometimes works.  They also had the conversation Steve had been planning the night before.  Karen was more than happy to stay in the luxurious quarters she was in, and Aikido sounded fun, but she had some strong opinions of her own about the need to communicate.

“I want to know _when_ you leave to go out and fight bad guys; no disappearing on me.  I also want to know _where_ you’re going to do it and _which_ bad guy you’re fighting.  I’m going to be doing some research on them to give me an idea of the threat level.  As to post-fight info, just come home safe, and don’t worry about letting me know the instant you’re done. I would certainly _like_ to hear you’re safe, but knowing you, you’d spend five hours looking for a nonexistent pay phone.”

“Oh, come on, last I checked there had to be nearly a quarter million payphones in New York City alone.”

“By any chance was the last time you checked in the thirties?  Everybody has cell phones now, and the payphone is a dying breed.”  To herself, she thought *I’m dating a time-traveler.  This is like the premise of a bad rom com.* She chuckled softly at that idea. *Although we haven’t exactly had a normal date yet, so are we really dating?*

As though he read her mind, Steve’s next words were “Would you feel up to going to dinner with me?”

“Right now?  I suppose if you give me some time to get dressed I could handle dinner.  I doubt the rest of the world wants to see me like this.”  She gestured to her bare legs, but Steve caught her hand in his.

“Every inch of you is beautiful.  I know you were joking just now, and yes, the place I was thinking of would prefer a bit more propriety, but I need you to know _you_ are beautiful, and I love you.”

“Whoa there, where’d this seriousness come from?  All of a sudden you’re all Saturday afternoon special.”

Ignoring the last bit, which he didn’t understand, Steve answered the question, which he did.  “When you didn’t come out for lunch, I got worried.  So I asked your sister if that was normal for you, and it led to a conversation about certain parts of your situation, and I’ll admit I don’t know how to best help you, what to do, but I thought maybe just letting you know how I feel…”

“There’s not much you _do_. Chronic depression is something that I handle myself, with a therapist and a psychiatrist providing professional advice.  But you just being there is a big help.  I’m doing alright right now, though.  Cate pumped me full of anti-depressants and anti-anxiety pills when we were on the plane home, and I had my standard night meds last night.  I’ll take my daytime doses in a minute.” She squeezed his hand before releasing it to pat his knee.  “But now is not the time for giving you a crash course in the care and keeping of nutty girlfriends, now is time for me to get dressed.  Where are we going, I want to dress right.”

“I was thinking about this place I’d heard good things about, I think it’s called Epitome.  I don’t think it’s a black tie sort of place, but not a dive either.  You’ll look beautiful no matter what you wear.”

“Alright, let me get dressed and then we can go.”  Inwardly, she was pondering the male species tendency to completely fail to understand that simple question ‘what should I wear’.

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An hour later, after much debate, Karen was finally ready to go.  She finally settled on a pale lavender peasant blouse and simple black trousers.  As the couple got into a car pulled from the Avenger’s motor pool, Steve took a moment to appreciate the beautiful woman beside him.  She’d lightly dusted her lids with a shimmery gold powder, and her lips had some sheer peach substance; he was never clear what all the products were called, the secret magic potions of women remaining a mystery.  He could have spent days staring at her beauty, but dinner reservations had been made, so he pulled his attention back to driving.

Epitome was located in a beautifully restored theater, and their seats on the balcony gave them a phenomenal view of the ceiling mural.  Karen had been mildly concerned when she saw the luxurious setting and grew more so when the menu she received had no prices listed. *If this is like yachts, where if you have to ask you can’t afford it, then I definitely am out of my element.* Nervous about the potential cost, when Steve asked what was looking good, she tried to fool him into thinking she really could get by with just the calamari appetizer.  Not falling for it, he reassured her.

“We just spent three days on starvation rations, most of which was fish.  You can’t tell me you _really_ want just calamari.”

“I know, but my menu doesn’t even have prices, and I don’t want to spend too much.”

“What did you really want?  Don’t worry about cost, just start with what you want.”

“Steak sounds divine right now, as does the spaghetti bolognaise, but I really don’t think I could finish the porterhouse, and I saw someone with the pasta on our way in; it’s huge.”  A thought dawned on her.  “Why don’t we split the bolognaise?  I get the feeling that normally they’d frown on splitting, but with spaghetti, it’s a romantic thing.”

“Romantic? Sounds messy.”

“Ok, we need to spend like a week getting you caught up on pop culture.  Just trust me; splitting spaghetti is connotative to romance in the current cultural zeitgeist.”

Indeed the waiter didn’t even blink at their order, and when the food arrived, just after the bottle of Chianti, Steve saw that Karen had been right; there was no way one person could eat all that.  He hadn’t wanted to seem stingy, and his bank account had been gathering interest for seventy years, so he could afford it, but he did appreciate her frugal instincts.  It meshed well with his own Depression Era outlook.

The date passed well, the two of them laughing over various things, a story from Karen, an impression of Tony from Steve, and for one evening all the horrors they’d gone through were like a bad dream, easily forgotten. 

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Eventually they arrived back at the Tower, both pleasantly full and wanting the moment to last forever.  They walked slowly to draw out their time together, and Steve insisted on walking Karen to her room, although it took him to the wrong end of the hallway.

“Well, here we are.  Thank you for tonight, it was wonderful.”

“I’m glad you had a good time.  I’ll admit I was a bit nervous, never having done this before.”

“I had a fantastic time, and don’t worry, the nerves didn’t show much.  Although I still can’t believe that you’d never been on a date before.”

“Not a date like this one, no.  Bucky dragged me on some double dates, but I never asked a girl out.”  He smiled shyly.  “Did I do alright?”

“You did more than ‘alright’, you were a perfect gentleman.”  Biting her lip nervously, she contemplated her next move.  They hadn’t discussed how the physical side of the relationship would progress, and the time by the lake aside, he was certainly old fashioned.

As Karen was considering giving him a goodnight kiss, Steve was trying not to stare at her lower lip, where it tucked in as she bit it.  It was entrancing for some reason, and when he noticed her leaning in toward him a bit, he seized the opportunity and quickly kissed her.  He wasn’t sure if that was the proper thing to do or what the protocol was, but far from being upset, she kissed him back with enthusiasm.  He held her in his arms, kissing, for what seemed like an eternity but also an instant.  He would have continued, but a cough from behind them interrupted.

“Sorry to intrude. I don’t exactly have a porch light to flick on and off.”  Cate stood in her doorway, having commandeered the room across from Karen.  “If you want to make-out with my sister, could you _please_ not do it in front of my room?  Thanks.”

Seeing that her sister was just going to stand there and glare at them if they continued, Karen pressed one quick kiss to Steve’s lips, before opening her door and slipping inside.  Steve blinked a few times before turning around to go back to his room.  Settled in his comfortable bed, he drifted off to pleasant dreams.

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A few weeks passed, and Karen adjusted to life in Avengers Tower.  She didn’t stay cooped up though.  Pepper had called some contacts and gotten her an interview at a charity children’s theater, which led to a job.  Steve had privately gotten peeved that she wouldn’t just accept the fact that there were perks to dating an Avenger, but was wise enough not to say anything, going to the workout room instead.  After he’d cooled down, he realized that having a job would help Karen feel in control of her life, and feel less like a kept woman; he certainly didn’t want that to ever be something she felt about their relationship.  He showered quickly, before heading to the kitchen where Karen was baking a batch of celebratory double chocolate cupcakes.  He found it both charming and detrimental to his waistline, but Karen baked when she was excited.  In the kitchen, Karen was getting ready to wash the mixing bowl when strong arms snaked around her waist, and Steve leaned over and kissed her cheek.

“Not planning on washing that without licking the batter, are you?”

“Steve!” She smacked his hand as he reached for the bowl.  “There’s raw egg in there!”

“And?  You’ve never had eggnog?  A little cake batter won’t hurt anybody.”  He successfully swiped up a little bit of the dark brown goo on a finger, popping it in his mouth.  The rich flavor of the batter exploded across his tongue, almost intoxicating in its intensity.  The only thing he’d ever tasted that exceeded this was Karen herself.  On a whim, he pressed a kiss to her lips, her surprised squeak allowing him access to her mouth, where he dipped his tongue, tasting both chocolate and Karen at once.  Coming up for air, he smiled at the dazed look on her face  “Yup, that’s better.  Chocolate and you, the two best tastes in the world.”  He took her in his arms, pressing them close to the counter.  At first he’d had a hard time making the first move, but time and encouragement had led him to a happy balance of sorts, and he wasn’t as hesitant.  Still smiling, he scooped up a little more batter and held it to Karen’s lips, where he was happy to note, she barely paused before licking it off his finger.  Then, grinning, she snagged the bowl and used her fingers to dab a little batter on his cheek.  She giggled and kissed it off, but he retaliated in kind, and soon the bowl was bare of any batter at all and they both had sticky faces.  Fortunately the sink and a dishcloth remedied the latter state.

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Twenty minutes later the cupcakes were done and cooling on racks when Jarvis informed them that Steve was needed in the meeting room.  Apparently a villain named Whirlwind was robbing jewelry stores at top speeds.  Karen gave Steve a quick kiss as he left the room, then went to the nearest room with a TV so she could watch the battle on the news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can find me here: bairnsidhe.tumblr.com. I'm very friendly, and if you send me an ask I will respond within 24 hours. If you let me know you're there for SBoRFW, I'll up my posting related to the Cap fandom.


	28. Big Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Karen take some big steps.

Steve and Karen spent many months happily dating, and although his role as Captain America continued to worry her, Karen was proud of him and the good things he did.  The Avengers had many missions in that time, and Steve stuck to the agreement, letting her know where he was going and what he’d be facing.  Although she’d never had much use for supers before, steady work with Jarvis as a tutor gave her enough knowledge to let her gauge situations.  Pepper was another huge help, providing a comforting shoulder and a sparring partner, depending on what was needed.  If there was a big threat, Karen preferred the adrenaline haze of a really good workout, whereas if the bad guy was barely worth the Avengers time, a confidante was enough.

They became good friends, and eventually the two of them started hosting ladies nights at the tower.  Karen, Pepper, Jane, Betsy and occasionally Natasha would take over one of the rec rooms to watch movies, play pool or poker, and talk.  The male Avengers steered far clear of these gatherings, much to the amusement of the women.  The only exception had been when Thor accidently wound up drinking a pitcher of daiquiris, before they chased him out.  At a later gathering Pepper regaled them with the story of how Tony reacted to his friends newfound enjoyment of fruity drinks.

“So then he says, ‘Thor, we’re going to a _sports bar._   They won’t serve you a strawberry daiquiri, that’s a chick drink!’  I’m not sure if Thor won that argument or not, they left the building at that point.”

“If he did win, he might be the only man in the world who could get away with drinking a drink like that in a straight bar.  Who would call him on it?”  Betsy giggled slightly at the excellent logic behind Jane’s argument.  Although Thor and Hulk still didn’t get along, their two significant others were closer than anything.  Both of them being scientists led to a friendship that sometimes produced more polysyllabic technobabble than when Tony and Bruce got onto something.

“Enough about men, let’s play some poker!”  Natasha had joined them that night, and though they knew they were going to get hustled by the superspy, it was nice to have her there.  Karen sometimes marveled at the strange and wonderful events that led to where she was now, dating a superhero and good friends with a spy.

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While the girlfriends of the heroes were playing poker, Steve was on a mission.  He’d recruited Natasha to keep the girl’s night going so that he could slip out unnoticed.  She thought he was just getting something special for his anniversary with Karen, and that was true, but he was getting something very specific.  Entering a small storefront with tastefully subdued lighting, he smiled to himself.  Speaking briefly with the man working behind the counter, he moved to a case holding a large selection of possibles.  He found the perfect one, acquired it, and then slipped back into the Tower, with Karen none the wiser.

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Their anniversary dinner was a recreation of their first date, only after the dinner was cleared away, but before desert was brought out, Steve cleared his throat anxiously, before getting down on one knee presenting a blue velvet ring box to Karen.

“Karen, I…”

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes!”  Her face practically glowed as she spoke.

“You didn’t even let me ask the question!”  Despite the words, his voice was more playful than exasperated.  “I had how I’d ask all figured out, it was romantic and eloquent and…” She interrupted him again, placing a finger over his lips.

“And completely unnecessary.  I love you Steve, and I’d be overjoyed to spend the rest of my life with you.”  Switching from sincere to excited with whiplash speed, she bounced in her seat.  “So go on and put the ring on my finger already!”

Smiling at his soon-to-be-wife, he complied with a smile. “As you wish.”

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The wedding of a superhero was always a big deal, the chaos surrounding Sue Storm and Reed Richards ceremony several years prior being fairly characteristic.  So it came as no surprise to anyone but Karen that a few months in, she was up to her eyeballs in atypical wedding details.  Before she finally snapped, Pepper stepped in with recommendations for wedding planners accustomed to the unusual.

Bethany Bayard was a crisply efficient woman of increasing years who ran her event planning company with an iron grip.  In her capable hands, Karen’s workload decreased to manageable levels, although occasionally details specific to the culture of superheroes still got brought to her.  Ms. Bayard had met her match in Steve, finding herself unable to contradict anything he said.  For someone accustomed to getting her way, for the client’s own good, of course, this left an unpleasant aftertaste.  So, many questions that would be better asked of the groom wound up being asked of Karen, much to her dismay.

“Ms. McCann!  There you are. I need to ask you about the guest list.  On the list of groom’s invitees, there are a number of irregularities.  For instance, how am I supposed to get an invitation to a Mr. Spiderman?  There’s no address, no real name…I can strike him from the list, but I’m not sure Mr. Rogers would appreciate that.” 

“Handle all the ‘irregularities’ the same way, just print the invite, hand the stack to Steve and he’ll hand deliver them.”

“That seems like a lot of effort for him…”

*Like answering all these questions isn’t a lot of effort for me?* Out loud, Karen was a bit less sarcastic.  “If Steve really wants to invite someone he doesn’t know the address or real name of, then he can damn well track them down to invite them.  Also, a good number of the no-real-name ones will be coming in uniform, as it were, so get used to that.”

“Of course.  Now we really need to set a dress fitting for your bridesmaids.”

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Finally the big day arrived.  Due to some of the more colorful personas attending, the evening wedding was being held on the large balcony of Avengers Tower.  Already a few dustups had occurred when no-one realized that a few of the guests would arrive from the air, rather than the ground floor.  The bridesmaids had connived to keep Karen as far as possible from the arguments, Natasha even going as far as threatening to toss a too-loudly complaining caterer off the building if he didn’t keep it down near the bridal suite. 

The groomsmen were still in sad state from the bachelor party, save Thor.  Tony had neglected to take Steve’s immunity to alcohol into account when he challenged him to a game of quarters.  In the end, Steve had to help Bruce and Clint walk while Thor hauled Tony back to the Tower.  Fortunately the groom was fine, if nervous.  None of his friends, other than Thor, could say the same, resulting in Thor being the first line of defense to a jittery groom.

“Oh, I’m not sure I can do this….  What if this all goes pear-shaped?  How many other costumed heroes actually _stayed_ married?”

“Friend Rogers, no plan ever has a guarantee of success, but we keep going.  If we hesitated every time we _might_ fail, we would be sure to.”

“But what if being married to me gets her hurt, or worse, killed?  Can I be that selfish, risking her life because I wanted to get married?”

“I do not believe that Karen McCann could be enticed to this ceremony if she did not in truth want it as well.  I also believe that it would be unwise to avert your intent at this point.  Fiery Muspelheim itself would freeze over before I would willingly anger a wench like that.  Especially if I intended to attempt a continued relationship.  Your bed will be colder than Jotunheim if you jilt her now.”  He paused, taking in Steve’s face, judging his next remark.  “You have faced down countless foes, Steven Rogers.  Wouldst one little ceremony undo you?”

“You’re right, you’re right.  Just pre-wedding nerves, nothing I can’t handle.”

“Excellent!”  He clapped Steve on the shoulder, causing the man to jar forward.  “And tonight a feast such as to make Volstagg weep!”

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Once the guests were settled, the candles lit and Steve stood at the altar, his nerves settled down to a dull hum of anxiety.  All that faded away, however, when Karen started down the aisle.  She had very carefully not told him what she was planning on wearing, and the surprise did its work, as he was struck by her beauty again.  The dress she had chosen was full in the skirt, but the top was fitted, the sleeves a flat shoulder-baring band of cream colored satin.  He’d once confessed that he loved seeing the little hollows over her collar bone; they were just so adorable, without being emaciated.  It seemed she recalled that, because this dress showed them to great effect.  As the two of them gave their vows in front of friends and family, related or otherwise, everyone could see the radiant love on their faces.  The dinner that night was sublime, but neither of them seemed to be interested in anything but each other.  And if they slipped out of the reception as soon as possible, no one mentioned it beyond knowing looks and smiles.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

At the door of the luxurious suite that Tony had upgraded Steve to in anticipation of a double occupancy, Steve scooped Karen up in his arms to carry her across the threshold.  Her full skirt made things a little awkward, but it didn’t hamper him much.  Once in the room, her jaw dropped at the set up.  Steve had scattered rose petals across the bed, chocolate covered strawberries and an ice-bucket holding a bottle of champagne sat on the small private dining table.  Around the room were dozens of candles, their flames providing a warm ambient light.

“This is…Steve this is beautiful.”  Emotion caught in her throat, so rather than try to speak past it she kissed him, letting her actions speak for her.  He kissed back passionately; a hand sliding over the satin of her bodice’s back, searching for a zipper, the other tangled in her curls.  Breaking the kiss for a moment, she pulled the jeweled clips that had held her up-do in place from her hair.  Her hair falling loose, he thought she looked like the angel she was, _his_ angel.  Smiling she turned around slowly, lifting her hair out of the way so he could unzip her dress.  The dress fell from her body in a rippling ivory wave, revealing the white bustier and panties she wore beneath.  Overcome by her beauty, he stood speechless as she unbuttoned the crisp white dress shirt he wore.  The tuxedo’s jacket had been discarded at the reception, as had her shoes, so there was nothing in her way when she slid the shirt from his body.

Her touch on his bare shoulders sent a thrill of pleasure through his body.  Eager for more, he wrapped his arms about her, pulling their bodies close and mating his mouth to hers.  They kissed for a small eternity, losing themselves in each other before coming up for air.  When they reached the tipping point, when they needed more than kisses like they needed air, he quickly stripped the rest of his clothes off as she worked the laces of the bustier.  As he finished, the garment that, by virtue of compression and its steel stays, had held up her ample bosom fell free of her body. 

She arched into his hands as he gently fondled her breasts, calling to mind everything he knew of what she liked, from every moment they’d gone farther than kisses, since that day at the lake over two years ago.  He lightly squeezed the soft flesh, running his fingers around the rosy tips, before trailing his hands down to her hips.  In response, she moaned his name in a low, sultry tone, her hands sliding over his chest, stomach and sides.  His hands on her hips and hers on his shoulders, they pulled each other close for another deep kiss.

She could feel his stiff arousal press into her lower abdomen, and was eager to feel it inside of her.  Her heart raced with anticipation.  They’d fooled around plenty, his old fashioned nature giving way to his desire, but that was the one thing he’d stayed strong on.

“Steve, what’s say we move this to the bed?  And did you happen to remember…” As they moved to recline on the massive bed, he interrupted her.

“Condoms? Yes I did.  Although, if you wouldn’t mind being the one to…”

“Of course.”  That was the last thing either of them said for quite some time

After rolling on the condom, an act which Steve felt sure wasn’t _supposed_ to be as arousing as it was, Karen slid off her panties, and lightly pushed him to the bed.  Straddling his body, she used one hand to guide his stiff erection to her already wet sex.  He drew in a sharp breath at the sensation of her body enveloping his member.  The tightness and the warmth nearly drove him over the edge, and only sheer will power kept him from rolling them over and pistoning into her.  He doubted that would go over well.  He wasn’t sure, but with her widened eyes and lip biting, he’d say she needed to adjust to him.  When she began to rock back and forth on him though, he let out a deep groan and clasped her thighs tightly, unsure how long he could last.  She leaned over and kissed him, silencing the groan with her lips, all the while rocking her hips faster and harder.

Karen didn’t know when she’d become such a hair trigger, but the hard fullness within her had almost given her an orgasm when she’d slid it in, and now that she was moving, she felt that one stray touch might send her flying apart at the seams.  As the tension coiled below her waist increased, so did the speed and power behind her movement.  When Steve slid his hands from her hips up her back, she was the one moaning into him.  The oddly erotic sensation of gentle hands with rough fighter’s callouses sliding over her skin nearly had her cumming.  His hips worked in time with hers to form a steady rhythm, the two of them climbing higher and higher until she arched her back and cried out her pleasure.  The waves of her orgasm left clenching muscles in their wake, the pulsing pressure caressing his erection, causing him to cry out only a moment after her.

The happy but exhausted newlyweds collapsed into each other.  For a long moment neither of them could move, completely worn out from bliss.  When at last they could move, it was only as much as was needed to dispose of the condom and get under the covers, where, for the first of many nights, they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you can find me here: bairnsidhe.tumblr.com. I'm very friendly, and if you send me an ask I will respond within 24 hours. If you let me know you're there for SBoRFW, I'll up my posting related to the Cap fandom.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me here: bairnsidhe.tumblr.com


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